


for blue, blue skies

by alanabloom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Ocean, Phone Calls, Puppies, angsty longing, shamelessly reconciles ship with book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanabloom/pseuds/alanabloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He leaves on a Tuesday.  There's a U-Haul trailer attached to his car, since the backseat and passenger side are reserved for the dogs.  He'd gone yesterday to the Bureau, his first time since everything - the attack and the arrest and the hospital and the trial - happened, to say goodbye to Beverly and Jack.  He'd gone this morning, stupidly, to the animal shelter, and now he's sitting in his car outside Alana's house, everything he owns in tow and a beagle puppy that doesn't belong to him perched on his lap, staring up at Will with baleful, expectant eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there's distance and there's silence

_The lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean_  
 _And the fire that was starting to spark_  
 _I miss it all, from the love to the lightning_  
 _And the lack of it snaps me in two_

He leaves on a Tuesday.

There's a U-Haul trailer attached to his car, since the backseat and passenger side are reserved for the dogs. He'd gone yesterday to the Bureau, his first time since everything - the attack and the arrest and the hospital and the trial - happened, to say goodbye to Beverly and Jack. He'd gone this morning, stupidly, to the animal shelter, and now he's sitting in his car outside her house, everything he owns in tow and a beagle puppy that doesn't belong to him perched on his lap, staring up at Will with baleful, expectant eyes.

He needs to get out of the car. Yet he can't make himself start this process...getting out of the car will only lead to the moment he has to say goodbye to her.

It's been two weeks since Will's seen Alana. Two weeks since he told her he is moving to Florida and she subsequently moved out of his house, returning to her own for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Even while he was recovering, she'd stayed at his place - it was closer to the hospital, and it made it easier to care for the dogs.

Will had tried so damn hard. 

Tried to make the break up seem like a side effect of the move, nothing more. Tried to tell himself it was best for both of them, especially for her. Tried to forget the look on Alana's face when she realized what he meant when he blurted out _I'm going_.

The thing is that he loves her. More than he's loved anything, his whole life, and though he isn't sure exactly _why_ , Will knows Alana loves him, too.

They had six weeks together. Six weeks of pure happiness, untainted, and it had all felt like it was a long time coming. 

But then Will had finally found proof of who and what Hannibal Lecter was, and after that the world fell out from beneath them.

Will stares through his windshield at Alana's still, silent house and he skims through the past seven months since Hannibal's arrest.

The months in the hospital, Alana by his side, his only source of strength and his only target for frustration. The nightmares. His inability to sleep, to eat properly, to forget the feeling of holding his own insides in tact. Alana's guilt over being the one to bring Hannibal into Will's life, of being the inadvertent catalyst to everything he went through. Will's suspicions that she was staying out of guilt. Her stoic acceptance of all his harsh words, his uncalled for rudeness, his taciturn silence, as if she was somehow grateful for the punishment. 

How fucked up he is, how broken. How all evidence of that only makes Alana feel worse, because she can't seem to shake the conviction that it's all her fault.

He remembers the day he found her crying in the laundry room, her back against the dryer that was rumbling but empty of clothes, turned on solely so he wouldn't hear her sobbing. Will had gathered Alana in his arms, trying to soothe her, but his relief at finally being able to be there for _her_ had been short lived as he'd realized she was only crying for _him_.

These are the moments Will tries to remember, the ones that nearly allow him to believe they will be better apart.

And yet other memories keep nudging their way forward.

Her hand, small and warm and assuring, intertwined with his own the night he'd wanted to walk across the field and look back at his house. She hadn't even questioned the task, just asked if he wanted company and pulled herself gamely from bed at three in the morning when Will assured her he did.

Crawling across the mattress and burying his face in the back of her neck, waiting for her to wake up and realize he's had a nightmare. The feel of her arms around him, her fingers' soothing ministrations against his curls, the quiet whispers of her reminding him _You're safe now, I'm right here, everything's okay..._

Her eyes never leaving his during his testimony at the trial. The lawyer getting annoyed with him - _you have to look at me, or the jury, not just stare off into space, it makes you seem crazy_ \- and Will not caring, just keeping his gaze fixated on Alana, the only way he could get through it.

The moments during sex when she is the only thing he can see and feel and think about. The strangled sound of her voice saying his name like it's the only word she knows. Her lips against his skin, every inch of it, as though she doesn't even notice his scar. The certainty of her voice falling against his ear: _you're beautiful. God I love you_.

Will stares at the house. She is so close, and he isn't even gone yet, but already he misses Alana so much it hurts to breathe.

He'll never know how long he would have sat there, unmoving, in his car putting off the inevitable. As it is, he's going on twenty minutes when Alana appears on the porch, squinting at him in confusion, her arms wrapped around herself, protectively, as if she suspects he's only here to further twist the knife.

The mere sight of her nearly undoes his resolve, and for a moment Will desperately wants to forget the whole thing, to unload the U-Haul and settle in right here.

Alana looks sad and exhausted and she's wearing a T-shirt that used to belong to him. For a long moment they stare at each other through the windshield, her hovering at the edge of her porch and him behind the wheel of his idle car. 

But then the puppy on his lap whines, and Will remembers what he's here to do. He gathers the beagle against his chest and gets out of the car, crossing her yard.

Alana makes no move to meet him halfway, and Will slows to an awkward stop at the bottom of the steps. 

"Hi." His voice is rough, his throat already pulling tight.

"What are you doing here, Will?" There's no anger in her voice. She never gets mad at him, not anymore, not even when he told her he was leaving her behind. In a way, that's the worst part. There's something so resigned in Alana's demeanor, like she thinks she deserves this, that it was somehow inevitable.

"I...I wanted to get you something." Dumbly, he holds up the puppy. "I got him at the shelter."

Alana's already shaking her head, vehemently, surprised and almost panicked by the gift. "Will, I can't..."

"But you're so good with the dogs." He sounds over eager, desperately trying for some hint of happiness, for some evidence that she's alright. "And I didn't want...I don't know." Will flushes, stopping just short of saying he doesn't want to leave her alone. 

Because of course Alana isn't alone. She's close to Beverly. And Jack - apparently the weeks Will spent in a coma had worked wonders on mending their fractured relationship. Her oldest brother lives close.

"You should take him." She isn't looking at either of them. "It'll be better."

"Alana, please." His voice is straining under the weight of his desperation, and after a moment of silence Will climbs the steps of her porch, holding out the animal until Alana has no choice to reach out and take him.

She scratches the puppy behind the ears, ducking her head to look at him, but not before Will sees the tears glittering on her eyelashes. "Thanks," she whispers eventually, so soft he can't be sure of the tone.

They stand there for longer than necessary, Alana gently petting her new dog, Will watching silently. Finally, she turns around and heads back toward the half open door, and for a second Will's lungs shrink in panic, but Alana only deposits the puppy inside before turning back around to face Will.

She doesn't say anything, just waits for him to reveal why he's still standing there. With great, pained effort, Will slides his eyes to meet hers. The tears she's fighting make her eyes look overly bright and saturated. They make Will think of blue glass.

When he lets the silence hover for too long, Alana's shoulders sag, and she gives him a pleading, desperate look. " _Will_." Her voice is quiet. Begging. Like she wants him to just go, to put them both out of their misery and rip off the band aid. 

"Please don't hate me," he blurts out in the high, quivering tone of a desperate little boy. "Alana, please."

Her face falls open, and in two seconds Alana's stepping into his arms, whispering assurances against his neck, telling him of course she doesn't hate him, that she never could. As tightly as Will clings to her, one would think he's only leaving Alana by extreme outside force.

They stay like that for a long time. There are tears on his face, and Will can hear the soft, stuttered breaths that mean she's crying, too. Then they both start talking at once, their words tripping over each other, overlapping and blurring together, an endless loop of apologies and unwanted forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"No, _you_ don't, you didn't do anything wrong."

"I did - "

"No, never."

"I love you - "

"I love _you_."

"- so much -"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, _I'm_ sorry."

Alana's the one to pull away, when she's crying too hard to talk anymore, her forearm pressed against her lips. The sight rips him to shreds, and Will's a breath away from taking it all back, the break up and the move and all the rest of it, when she lowers her arm, presses her lips together, and chokes out, "Let me know when you make it there safe."

He doesn't even have time to agree before Alana's lips are on his, the kiss soft and fast and achingly _final_.

Alana pulls away in a rush and immediately turns her back on him, like she can't handle looking at Will for another second. 

So that is the end, with a click of her door and a muffled sob, followed by barking, from the other side of it.

______________________

_Hey, it's me...don't worry, no cell phone use while driving. I'm pulled over at a rest stop so the dogs can run around for a minute. Somewhere in North Carolina, I think. Five hours in the car is a lot for them. And for me. All I've done is think about you, and how I think I did this wrong. This morning it was just...it was so hard. And I think it was so hard that I didn't even manage to say what I really wanted to which is that...this isn't about anything you did or didn't do, Alana. You know how I feel about you blaming yourself. _I_ don't blame you. That's not what this is. You aren't what I want to get away from. It's just...I had to get away from everything else. Start over, you know? I'm no good to you like this. You know I'm not. I'm not making you happy like this. And more than anything I just want you to be happy. You _deserve_ it. And you have to stop thinking otherwise._

_I, uh. I guess that's it. I should get back on the road. Call me back, if you want. Or I'll just call you when I make it to Florida, like you asked._

_Bye, Alana. Bye._

______________________

When she manages to stop crying, Alana names the puppy Jude and passes several hours on the floor of her living room, playing a limited game of fetch using an improvised ball made of rolled socks, and works through a six pack of beer.

Beverly calls around noon, but Alana doesn't answer because she's pretty sure she'd sound drunk. Bev thinks she drinks too much, these days, even though Alana's explained that sometimes it's the only way she can get to sleep.

That shouldn't be any more difficult now. After all, it's not as though she can't sleep without Will beside her. Over the past few months, she'd often wake up in the middle of night to find the spot beside her empty. Will would be aimlessly wandering the house, or sometimes just sitting in a chair across the bedroom, staring blankly out the window, lost to some deep, dark place that Alana could never reach.

But goddamn had she tried.

______________________

_Hey, me, again. I know it's late, but I told you I'd call. I'm at the house. It's nice. Right on the beach. Looks more like a cabin in the woods than a beach house, though, which I sort of like. The owner says there's potential to buy at the end of the rental period, but, ah. I don't know. It's quiet here. I'm standing on the back deck, looking at the ocean, and I should probably be more tired than I am, after all that driving. Worried I won't be able to sleep._

_I don't know why I'm telling you all that. I want to keep talking to you, I think. Sorry. Call me tomorrow? I want to hear how the new dog's working out. I hope you aren't mad about that._

_Goodnight, Alana._

______________________

It turns out that being falsely imprisoned - even when a serial killer very carefully set you up to make that happen - comes with a nice _don't sue us_ settlement. His retirement package from the FBI was also more generous than usual.

All of which means there's no immediate pressure for Will to find work.

So he fishes. He works on his lures. He goes for walks on the beach with the dogs. 

And he misses her, all the time.

The solitude - the loneliness - is hardly unfamiliar to Will, but it's like falling back in time, to the years before he met Alana. It all just serves as a reminder of how much Alana changed his life - though not in the way she thinks.

So Will wakes up every morning wishing she's there, and he has to remind himself that, together, there's no way either of them could get past what happened.

Alana will never be able to forgive herself for being the one to recommend Hannibal as his therapist, for setting all this in motion, if Will is right in front of her, broken and hurting, a constant reminder of the consequences of her mistake. 

And he will never be able to put his trauma behind him if Alana always has that look in her eyes, a seemingly permanent expression of anguished self loathing that won't go away no matter how many times Will assured her she isn't to blame.

They stopped working, and he hadn't been able to see a way through it. All Will did was hurt her, and Alana took it and never fought back because she _wanted_ the punishment. 

But they loved - _love_ \- each other, fiercely and desperately, and Will fervently believes that if it wasn't for Hannibal Lecter, he and Alana would have just..stayed happy.

Some days, Will thinks that's the thing he hates Hannibal for the most.

______________________

_Hello?_

_Alana! Hi._

__

_Hey, Will._

__

_I didn't know if you'd answer._

__

_I know. I'm sorry I haven't called you back, I just...needed a few days._

__

_No, it's okay. I know._

__

...

__

_Where are you right now?_

__

_Um, I'm at home._

__

_I mean specifically._

__

_Oh. The porch._

__

_Hold on._

__

...

__

...

__

_What are you doing?_

__

_I went outside. I'm on my deck now._

__

_So you're looking at the ocean?_

__

_Yeah._

__

_I can kind of hear the waves._

__

_What are you doing?_

__

_Just sitting here with Jude._

__

_Oh. Um. Right. Who's -_

__

_The dog, Will._

__

_Oh! Jude. I like that. How is he?_

__

_He's good. We've bonded. But don't tell Winston._

__

_Oh, right, he'd be jealous. I think he misses you._

__

...

__

...

__

...

__

_Alana?_

__

_Yeah? ___

__

_Did you get my voicemails? From last week?_

__

_I did._

__

_Okay. Good. I was just making sure._

__

...

__

...

__

_So you're doing okay?_

__

_I think so, yeah._

__

_Better?_

__

_I...don't know. It's all still new. And...I miss you a lot._

__

...

__

_Alana?_

__

_Yeah, Will, I miss you, too. I should go, okay? I'm kinda tired._

__

_Yeah. Yeah, okay. Me, too, actually._

__

_You're sleeping okay?_

__

_Sometimes._

__

...

__

...

__

_Bye, Will._

__

_Bye, Alana. Goodnight._

__

______________________

Back when Will was in the hospital, Alana had taken a semester off from Georgetown, dropped lectures at the FBI Academy, and stopped consulting on FBI cases.

She never went back to the latter.

Her class load is light for the summer, and with Will gone, Alana finds herself with much more free time than is good for her right now.

Filling the hours becomes important. Anything to avoid the silence and the thinking that comes along with it.

She takes up jogging. She logs an absurd amount of hours in the university library, starting a dozen different research papers with an almost manic focus before she loses the thread and starts over. She starts an ill advised project of repainting rooms in her house.

Then, after an offhanded comment from Jack, Alana offers to go with Bella Crawford to her latest Hail Mary round of chemotherapy when Jack's work schedule makes it impossible for him to take her.

Bella likes Alana because she doesn't discourage or wince at pessimism or gallows humor. Once, when Bella laments dryly that she's trying to avoid novels because she _doesn't want to leave anything unfinished_ , Alana just nods as though that's perfectly reasonable, and shows up the next treatment day armed with anthologies of short stories, Flannery O'Connor and Raymond Carver and Joyce Carol Oates and Toni Morrison. Sometimes Jack comes home to find Bella asleep in their bedroom and Alana cooking or cleaning, and no amount of _you don't have to do that_ makes an impact. 

Sometimes, when Alana feels like she's losing it, she thinks about Bella and Jack and remind herself that _she_ has no right to complain or hurt or feel sorry for herself. Not when they have it so much worse...and it's not even their fault.

______________________

_Hello?_

_Hi._

_Hey, Will. How are you?_

_Not so bad. You?_

_I'm fine._

...

...

_I just wanted to check in._

_Yeah, I...I'm glad you did. How are things down there?_

_Oh. You know. Hot. Humid._

_Are you meeting people?_

_There are a few guys who fish on the same pier as I do. We exchange small talk. Compare catches._

_That's good._

_Yeah. Also commissioned a few motors to fix, so. I'm keeping busy._

_That's really good, Will._

_What about you?_

_Nothing new, really. Just class._

_The Academy?_

_Sometimes. Not as much._

_How is it?_

_It's. People are still talking. The trainees ask questions. I don't really hang around much after class anymore, but. It'll die down._

_Yeah._

_How is it there?_

_Someone mentioned him once. The trial. But no one's recognized my name yet...don't think the people here are the type to follow it too closely._

_Good. I'm glad._

...

_Well, it was good to talk to you._

_Yeah, you, too. Do you have to go?_

_Yeah. Sorry. I'm taking Bella to chemo._

_Oh, right. How's she doing?_

_Okay. Not great._

_Right._

...

_Well. Bye. Talk later?_

_Sure. Bye, Will. Bye._

______________________

Will stops sleeping.

He overloads on coffee, surviving on fitful bursts of power naps throughout the day. The nightmares have gotten bad again, especially since he's waking up alone, and Will wonders how the hell he could have forgotten this crucial fact: that Alana had been the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing him whole. She was the single beam of light he could see above the surface, the edge for his finger to tentatively hook onto to keep from plummeting through space.

Now there's nothing but her voice on the phone, and Will only lets himself call her a tiny fraction of the times he needs to.

Most nights he walks, sometimes finding himself miles down the beach with no real memory of getting there, a strange version of highway hypnosis. A few times he walks to a small, dingy bar in town and goes home with some blue eyed brunette after drinking enough that maybe he can pretend it's her. That never works, but he fucks them anyway, keeping his shirt on so they don't comment on his scar.

______________________

_I forgot to tell you, Bev said to tell you hi._

_Tell her hey from me, too. How is she?_

_She's good._

_You hang out a lot?_

_Sort of. We meet for lunch a few times a week._

_That's good._

_Jack's trying to talk her into convincing me to come back. Work cases again, I mean._

_That's because Jack knows he can't talk you into anything._

_True._

_Are you...thinking about it?_

_No. I'm done with that._

_Alana..._

_Everyone knows I was mentored by a serial killer, Will. I knew him for years, and I didn't suspect anything until he..._

...

_I just shouldn't be profiling._

_Alana._

_Forget it, let's not talk about that, okay? What did you do today?_

_Oh, uh. Not much. Took a walk with a few of the dogs. Finished a lure. Quiet day._

_Right. And you're okay?_

_Yeah._

...

_You know you don't have to worry about me anymore._

_I guess I'll have to work on that._

...

...

_So tell me about Jude._

_Oh, he's sweet. He's got some separation anxiety issues._

_Oh, yeah?_

_Yeah, I can hear him whining behind the door every morning when I leave. And he follows me around the house. Which I kind of don't mind._

_Kiley does that._

_Oh, yeah, he's a little like Kiley._

_Did I tell you Bear's afraid of the ocean?_

_No, you didn't. How does that work?_

______________________

It's always with her.

The sorrow a leaden weight in her bones, the guilt and self-loathing twined with her veins, the loss of him sewn into her skin. 

Some days Alana can't see past it; the distractions stop working and it makes her feel crazy. She's sure everyone can see it, can see how aggressively _not okay_ she is: Jack and Bella and Beverly and her students and anyone else she comes into contact with.

Those are the days that turn into nights where she drinks herself sick, searching for some form of physical pain, something beyond the intangible fucking mess of her brain and her heart. 

She hates being drunk and she hates herself for doing it, but it's easier than everything else she's hating herself for.

______________________

_Will._

_Uh, yeah. Hey._

_Will._

_Alana? You okay?_

_I am all good._

_You sound weird._

_I may be a little bit drunk._

_Oh. Are you out somewhere? I can call back._

_No, no, stay on. I'm not anywhere. I mean, I'm at home._

...

...

_Are you okay?_

_I just told you I'm good._

...

_Are you okay?_

_Yeah, I am._

_Would you tell me if you weren't?_

_Of course._

_Mmmm. I don't know if you would. Sometimes you don't._

_Well. You know why, though._

_Why?_

...

_Because I know it's my fault?_

_Because you think it is._

_You're not even here anymore, Will. And you still can't say it._

_Because that's not what I think. You know it's not._

...

_I'm not the one who has to forgive you, Alana._

_But you're the one who left._

_Not because of you._

_You didn't..._

...

...

_What?_

_You didn't ask me to come with you._

...

...

_You didn't ask me to stay._

_Oh, fuck that, Will. Fuck everything about that._

_I'm sorry._

...

...

...

_I miss you all the time. If that helps, I...I lied before. I'm not okay. Not without you._

...

...

_Goddamn it._

_Maybe I made a mistake._

_Don't._

_I mean it._

_You can't say stuff like that._

_Maybe you could come here._

_What?_

_You know, come visit. For a weekend or something. I want to see you._

...

...

...

_Alana?_

_A weekend._

_I just mean -_

_I'm gonna hang up now, Will._

_Wait. Why?_

_Um. Because in a second I'm going to be crying. And it's bad enough I called you drunk. Drunk crying we don't need._

_You, uh. You didn't call me. I called you._

_Right._

_You never call me._

_Of course I don't. Those are the rules, Will. You left. You ended it. So you call._

...

...

_Alana?_

...

_Alana? Shit._

______________________

Will curses and hangs up the phone.

He needs to get to her. To walk to his car and drive to Alana's house and _see_ her. The strength of the need scares him, and for the first time the reality of the actual physical distance sinks in. And it's terrifying. 

He screws his eyes shut. There's a pressure building in his chest, clawing toward his throat, begging to be screamed. 

He calls her back, but she doesn't answer. He hadn't expected her to. So Will leaves the phone on the couch and leaves the house through his back door. 

The thin sliver of moon casts a glinting sheen on the surface of the water, and Will moves to the edge of the shoreline, where the water hits, letting the low tide ebb icy cold water over his feet. He starts walking down the beach, his house on his right, the ocean on his left, his strides misleading in their purposefulness. He just wants to be moving, wants to be going somewhere even if it isn't where he needs to be.

It happens again, that thing where he disconnects and loses sense of how long and how far he's been walking. 

He hasn't been sleeping enough lately, and it's the exhaustion that ultimately makes him stop. Will sits down hard on the wet sand. There's no one else around, and the few houses he can see, dotting the edge of the shore, are dark. He doesn't know what time it is, or how far he's gotten.

Will lies back, flat at the edge of the water. A shallow wave comes, making it halfway up his legs before retreating. Somehow he falls asleep without meaning to, for God knows how long, and when Will wakes up he's soaked and shivering. A wave rushes past, getting as far as his elbows now. 

He turns his gaze upward, looking for stars against the inky blackness and finding none, suddenly feeling very small and very, very far away from home. From her.

Will thinks of Alana in her empty house and him alone on the beach, her drowning in vodka and him drowning in saltwater, and he wonders how this could possibly be better.

Eventually Will pulls himself to his feet. His clothes are soaked, and wet sand clings to his skin and the fabric. He feels impossibly heavy. 

The sun's starting to rise by the time he makes it back to the rental house.

______________________

_Hey, it's me. I'm sorry about last night. I think I handled that...badly. Just. Give me a call tonight? Bye, Alana._

______________________

Alana's sitting in the wooden chair beside Bella's chemo station when she glances up from the book she's trying - and failing - to read to see Jack walking toward them.

Bella's asleep at the moment, two hours into treatment, with a blanket draped over her. Alana stands, moving to meet Jack halfway between the lobby door and the chairs.

"Thanks again," he says by way of greeting. "I got it from here."

Alana nods. "How's the case?"

"Pursuing a promising lead. But we're waiting on lab results, won't know anything until tomorrow." Jack frowns a little, squinting. "You alright?"

Alana is hungover and embarrassed and miserable, but the shame of being asked that question in the middle of a cancer ward turns her stomach. "You shouldn't be asking _me_ that."

"What, because my wife is sick I give up all concern for other human beings?"

"That's your prerogative, yeah." Alana tries to smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jack."

______________________

_It's, uh. It's me again. I thought I should give it a few days. You said that thing about...you never being the one to call me, so I thought maybe that's why I didn't hear back from you. But. I guess not. I miss talking to you. I...I just miss you, really. Can't believe it's been almost two months. Feels like longer. Well. It does and it doesn't. Please call me._

______________________

Will's walking down the beach in the late afternoon. Winston and Bear and Roxie are along for the walk, running ahead of him, chasing each other into the edge of the surf.

He stops for a moment, letting them play and wiping the sweat off his brow. His phone's in his pocket, and he's trying to decide whether he should try Alana again - it's been more than a week since the disastrous phone call and her avoidance is starting to make him vaguely panicky.

When he glances over at the dogs, a young boy's joined them. Will hadn't spotted him before; he must've spaced out longer than he'd realized. He moves closer, wary; Winston and Bear are friendly, but Roxie isn't great with strangers.

The boy looks up as Will approaches. He's probably eight or nine. "Are they yours?"

"Yeah."

The kid reaches out and rubs Winston behind the ears, grinning with delight. "What're their names?"

"That guy's Winston. Over there's Bear, and Roxie," Will tells him, pointing accordingly.

As the boy continues to pet Winston, Will scans the beach. There's no one else in sight. "Are you lost?"

"No, I just live right there." The kid points to the closest house, set just off beach like Will's. "It's okay if I'm out here as long as Mom can see me from the window." The kid pauses, then looks at Will with interest. "Are you on vacation or do you live here?"

"I live here. Well. For now."

"Which house?"

"About a mile that way."

"Cool. Do you bring your dogs out a lot?"

Will smiles slightly. He's always liked talking to kids; their straightforwardness is refreshing. "We go on walks, most days. These guys, and the five others back at the house."

The boy's eyes go wide. "So, wait...you have _eight_ dogs?"

"That's right."

" _Awesome_. I don't even get _one_." He looks down at Winston, eyes shining with envy. "You should bring them all down here sometime. I'd play with 'em, or take 'em on walks or whatever else, if you wanted."

"We could probably do that. What's your name?"

"Willy."

Surprised, Will laughs a little. 

The boy's brow furrows. "What?"

"Nothing, just...I'm Will."

"For real?"

"For real."

"Cool."

The next day he brings a different combination of dogs with him on his walk. He spots Willy running down from his house when he's still a good way back, as if the kid had been waiting. 

He sees him a few more times for the rest of the week, and always stops for thirty minutes or so to let the kid play with the dogs. 

One day Willy, Winston, and Kiley are running around a cluster of tidepools, Will sitting on his own about a hundred feet back, half watching, when Willy calls out excitedly, "Hey, Will, come look!"

He dutifully gets to his feet and approaches the tidepool. The boy's crouched down, pointing at a starfish. "Look, it's moving!"

"Wow," Will says dimly, a dull pang of longing hitting him somewhere in the chest.

"I didn't even know it was a real _fish_. Like, a live one I mean."

Will wraps up the dogs' playdate quickly after that, and after he tells Willy goodbye, he pulls out of his phone and calls Alana.

______________________

_Hello?_

...

_Will?_

_Sorry, I...you answered._

_Yeah. I...I'm sorry about before. Can we just forget it?_

_If you want to._

_I really do._

_Okay._

...

...

_So. What are you doing?_

_Walking on the beach. Winston and Kiley are with me._

_You guys heading anywhere in particular?_

_Back to the house now. Actually, I called because...this is stupid._

_What?_

_There was a starfish. In a tide pool. And I just...I thought about you, and that necklace you wear, and I just...I wanted to trying calling again._

...

...

_I'm glad you did. I was...hoping you would._

_You can call me, you know._

_I...yeah, I know._

...

_Will, last week, on the phone...._

_So...you do want to talk about it?_

_Just one part. You said that you'd lied, and that you weren't okay._

_I just...I just meant that I miss you. Even more than I thought I would._

...

...

_And everything else? Please don't lie._

_I'm still not sleeping well. Or often._

_Nightmares?_

_Yeah._

...

_Fuck. This was supposed fix things._

_It doesn't work like that. It won't all go away at once, Will. You know that._

_Yeah._

_I know you don't want to see someone, Will, and I get that, but...you know the signs of PTSD. If things get bad, you have to tell me._

_I will._

_Promise me._

_I promise._

...

...

_Tell me something._

_What?_

_Anything. We haven't talked in almost two weeks._

_Okay. Um. You know the regular semester started. So I've got a heavier class load again, which is a relief, honestly._

_Still not working cases?_

_No. I was at the Academy the other day. Oh, get this, I ran into DePaulo..._

_Oh, God._

_Still an asshole._

_Of course he is._

_He was prying about your 'recovery'. He actually suggested he and I cowrite something about it._

_What?!_

_I know._

_Doesn't he know that we're -_

...

_That, um. We were..._

_Probably. I, um, think he just thought that was a sneaky way to ask._

_Right._

...

...

_I better go. Gotta take Jude out before I meet Beverly and the guys for dinner._

_The guys?_

_Jimmy and Z. Zeller._

_Oh. Didn't know you were all friends._

_Bev's trying to make it happen. Thinks I'm antisocial._

_Ha._

_Talk soon?_

_Yeah. Hey, Alana. Do me a favor?_

_Yeah?_

_You call me next time?_

...

_It's just...sometimes I worry I'm annoying you._

_You're never annoying me._

_If I called you every time I wanted to, I would be._

...

...

_I'll call. Soon, okay?_

_Okay._

_Bye, Will._

_Bye, Alana._

______________________

She drives to his old house sometimes, late at night.

It's not exactly a healthy habit, but it's a fair trade for her more destructive vices. Some nights she forgoes drinking just so she can make the drive. There's a For Sale sign in the yard, and sometimes when it's two in the morning and she isn't thinking straight Alana toys with the idea of buying it. In case he comes back.

It's getting cooler now, so she brings along a coat for the nights she gets out and walks across the field, Jude trotting along at her heels. She remembers the time Will woke her up in the middle of the night to make this walk, the way he'd held her hand and looked back at the lights of his house and explained why it calmed him. 

But the house is dark now, less of a boat than an empty, desolate island. 

Still, it is an odd sort of coping mechanism, in a time when Alana needs them. She can almost spin the house's eerie stillness into something positive: it's waiting for him. He is coming back.

Those are the only moments when she lets herself remember the six weeks they were together in the Before. When Will was out of jail and she was still unaware of the truth about what landed him there. She feels so detached from those memories, like they're some sepia toned montage, too happy to have ever been her life.

Of course, those days weren't perfect. She had already fucked up, had already made the fatal mistake that set everything in motion. Will had already suffered unspeakably for it.

Alana just hadn't known yet. Her ignorance had been her bliss, and for six weeks being in love with Will didn't hurt. She'd loved him for a long time before, and hasn't stopped loving him since, but that finite period was the only time it wasn't a heavy, bruising ache, deep in her chest.

______________________

_I swear, it had to be seven feet. At least._

_I know, Will. I saw the photo. My phone went off in the middle of a lecture and suddenly I was looking at a dead shark._

_Your phone shouldn't be on during class. That's your mistake._

_I didn't even know you knew how to text._

_I just choose my moments. Carefully._

_And dead shark, that felt like a worthy moment?_

_I guarantee that's the best picture on your phone._

_I don't know. My phone has maybe fifty photos of Jude, and one photo of a dead shark._

_So at least it adds variety._

_True. Thanks for that._

_You're welcome._

______________________

"Excuse me...are you Will?"

He pulls up short and turns around, startled. He'd just passed the woman without a second glance, but now she's stopped her jog and is staring at him with interest. 

"Um..."

"I'm Molly Foster. Willy's mom. Sorry, I just saw the dogs and assumed."

"Oh, right. Yes. That's me." He scans the area, as though expecting for the kid to appear, even though they're aren't actually close to his house. "Where is Willy?"

Molly quirks her lips slightly, amused. "It's nine a.m. He's in school." She steps forward, offering her hand. "It's good to finally meet you. I hope he hasn't been bothering you, he's just a little obsessed with dogs at the moment."

"Oh, no. They enjoy it," Will replies, his eyes flicking away. Molly is tall and tan and blonde and her eyes are green. Nothing like Alana. He knows it's a little ridiculous that he catalogues women in terms of similarities and differences, like it's a compare and contrast.

Molly waits a beat, then gives him the polite smile Will's used to, the one that says _alright, I get it, you're not great company_. "Well, nice to meet you, Will. Thanks for indulging him."

"Nice to meet you, too." Will gives a small nod before turning and continuing on his walk. 

He doesn't give the encounter anymore thought, until three days later when he ends up near Willy's house for the usual, late afternoon playdate. After about fifteen minutes, Molly appears from the house and invites him inside for a drink.

"Will Graham...why does that sound familiar?"

When he reluctantly tells her, she remembers his role in Hannibal's nationally publicized trial. It makes Will feel like a character in a movie, introduced with a ready made backstory. It makes him more interesting to Molly, but the reality doesn't mean much to her. It's a story in a magazine, a summary narrative that doesn't begin to explain the instability, the anger, the trauma.

But he supposes it's the same with her, when she tells him about her husband who died a few years ago from cancer. Molly makes it sound quick and painless, but of course the difference is it's her telling her own story, not magazines or Inside Edition or Freddie Lounds.

The truth is, though, that Will sort of likes that she doesn't grasp it. It feels like the embodiment of what Florida was supposed to be: putting distance between himself and what happened. Turning it into a stage of his life that's no longer relevant. 

He doesn't feel that way. But Molly acting like it is makes it easier for Will to pretend.

When Willy comes inside for a snack, Will goes outside to collect his dogs and leave, but not before Molly asks him to dinner that weekend. He accepts.

______________________

_Tell me what you see._

_Is that a trick question?_

_No, describe it. I've never seen your house, I want to be able to picture you._

_I'm not in the house. I'm on the back deck. But okay, I'm sitting in one of the rocking chairs. There are two. Stripped wood, kind of splintery. Fitz is asleep in the other one, Winston's lying on the stairs._

_Okay. Good. What else?_

_I don't know. The ocean._

_You can do better than that, Will, you have a metaphor for everything._

_Okay, okay. It's dark. The water looks black from here, and you can't quite see the point where water becomes sky. There's barely any moon. The air's got that heavy, salty smell._

_Not a metaphor. But a little better._

_Now you go._

_You know what my house looks like._

_No, but where are you in it?_

_Back porch._

_You're outside? Isn't it freezing there?_

_A little. I just walked out. Wanted to see if you were right about the moon._

______________________

"You know I'm not part of this. I'm Switzerland."

Alana gives Beverly a look. "Yeah, about that. Shouldn't you be slightly less neutral?"

"Meaning I should be on your side?"

"Honestly, yes."

Beverly shrugs, unbothered. "I told Jack I wasn't going to try to talk you into anything. But in my completely unbiased opinion...it might be good for you."

Alana's eyes harden instantly. "Why would it?"

"Because you're fucking good at it, moron," Beverly tells her with a sigh, and an eyeroll for good measure. "Why do you think Jack wants you back so badly? You've got this idiotic idea that you somehow _should_ have known about Hannibal, and the fact that you didn't means you're incompetent. The longer we let you operate under that assumption, the more ingrained it becomes. And that's unacceptable."

Alana blinks at her, surprised at Beverly's sternness after months of not bringing it up. For a long moment, she's quiet, then starts haltingly, "I'd almost..."

"What?"

"I'd almost be okay if...if it wasn't for Will." She pursed her lips and shakes her head, annoyed with herself. "If Hannibal was just killing people I didn't know, and I had missed it...I think I could forgive that. But what he did to Will...right in front of me. What he put Will through. What _I_ gave him the chance to do. _That's_ what I can't forgive myself for."

Beverly's face softens, but she doesn't say anything more on the subject. She's learned not to argue. "You still talking a lot?"

"Yeah. Once or twice a week."

"How's he seem?"

"It's hard to tell. Better, I think. But sometimes his voice gets this...panicked quality when we're about to hang up. He may just be faking his way through it. I can't always tell over the phone."

Beverly nods, expressionless.

After a beat, Alana sighs. "What?"

"I said nothing."

" _What?_ "

"It's weird, Alana. You know I think it's weird."

"Yeah, it probably is."

"You don't care, though."

"Right," Alana confirms, taking a sip of her coffee. She doesn't tell Beverly that sometimes the sound of his voice cuts her to the quick. Or that the phone calls are like scratching poison ivy, so, _so_ needed, and temporarily soothing, but ultimately just worsens the scar.

______________________

_Turn on AMC._

_What channel's that?_

_We don't have the same channel numbers, remember?_

...

_Look at your guide._

_Found it, I think._

...

_Oh, hey. We saw this._

_You hated it._

_I told you, I'm just not much for movies._

_Which is fundamentally weird, Will. But this one seemed to be particularly offensive._

_It just doesn't make sense._

_Oh, believe me. I remember your thoughts on the matter._

_That was almost a fight._

_But not really._

_No, not really._

...

...

...

_Anyway, how's -_

_Ssssh. I'm trying to watch._

______________________

He sleeps with Molly the third time he meets her, after they get back from dinner and relieve Willy's babysitter.

It's good while it's happening; it takes Will out of himself, clearing his head of anything but basic, physical sensation. 

But sex is a band aid over a bullet wound, and the adhesive is already peeling in the seconds after it's over. Almost immediately, he thinks of Alana, and he lays beside Molly in bed feeling guilty and incomplete. It was the same story with the women he went home with from the bar, except now Will can't make a hasty exit.

Molly studies him with an almost sympathetic look. 

"So it's true. The woman at the trial, the one who testified for you the first time around. The psychiatrist? You...were together?"

His chest constricts and his mouth goes dry. "It wasn't all true. She...she was never with _him_." Will swallows hard. "But yeah. We were."

"And where is she?"

"Home." He frowns, quickly amending, "Virginia, I mean."

"You still love her?"

It's framed like a question, but Molly seems to know the answer. Will looks at the ceiling, not her, when he answers, "Yes." Silence wedges between them for awhile, then, "Sorry."

"Don't be," and she sounds like she means it. "I still love Daniel." Her late husband. "I don't think that will ever go away. He was the love of my life."

And that, it turns out, is what does it. 

He and Molly fall together out of loneliness and understanding and a sort of simple, surface compatibility. But what holds them together is that it's clear from the beginning what they are and what they aren't for each other.

Will is not the love of Molly's life, and she isn't the love of his. Those positions have already been filled. They know not to try to fill the gaping holes someone else left behind, so they fit each other into the spaces between gaps.

They talk a lot about their respective losses, about Alana and Daniel. They refer to them only in pronouns, as though it's perfectly fine for other people to dominate their conversations as long as they don't say the names.

Strangely, this establishes an odd sort of intimacy. To know how much he loves Alana, how much he misses her...it's not an insignificant part of knowing Will.

______________________

_Ah...Alana?_

_Will? What's...is everything okay?_

_I'm sorry. S-sorry, I know it's late, I know..._

_It's okay, don't be sorry. Tell me what's wrong._

_I can't...I just had t-to call..._

_You have a nightmare?_

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._

_Sssshhhh, it's okay. Everything's okay. I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?_

_Alana, he...it was you, he had you..._

_It's just a dream. Everything's okay, babe, I'm right here._

...

_I'm going to count to ten okay. In and out, every number, remember?_

_Mmm._

_Easy...1.....2.....3......4.....5.....6....7....8.....9....10._

...

_Will?_

_I'm okay. I'm...I'm sorry, 's stupid._

_It's not stupid. You feel better?_

_Yeah._

_I need you to talk to me, okay? Tell me something._

_I don't know what to..._

_Give me the dogs names. In order that you found them._

_Bear, Kiley -_

_Slower._

_Bear. Kiley. Fitz. Bailey. Zoey. Huck. Roxie. Winston._

_Okay, good._

_And Jude._

_He doesn't count._

_Honorary._

...

...

_You okay?_

_Yes. I'm sorry for waking you._

_Stop. No more apologizing. It's okay. I want you to call me._

...

_Want to talk about it?_

_No._

_Want me to stay on the phone?_

_Yes. Please._

_Okay. I'm not going anywhere until you say so, okay? I'm right here._

_Thanks._

...

...

...

...

______________________


	2. to stand where I stood

_'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you_  
 _All I know is that I should_  
 _And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you_  
 _All I know is that I should_  
 _'Cos she will love you more than I could_  
 _She who dares to stand where I stood_

"Why aren't you with her?"

This is how it happens. Molly brings up Alana, seemingly apropos of nothing, but really it's because Will had gone quiet for too long, his mind drifting somewhere else. To _someone_ else.

He gives her a slightly startled look, surprised by the question. "I told you..."

"I know what you told me," Molly replies gently. "About why you left, what it was like after you got out of the hospital. But...what's stopping you from being with her now? Or in, I don't know, six months?" 

Will's quiet for a moment; he understands why she'd ask the question. Her husband is dead; there's no going back for Molly, no matter how much she'd like to. Alana, though. She's still out there. Hell, she's on the other end of Will's phone once or twice a week, something he has yet to mention even though he and Molly have been dating for over three months now.

Molly's eyes soften, and she assures him, "Will, I like you. I could even love you, someday." He stomach lurches a little at the word, and as always he immediately makes the comparison: the first time Alana told him she loved him, it almost felt like mere formality, verbalizing something they'd both known and felt for so long. And here's Molly, using the word before she feels it. Alana's opposite, yet again. "But I don't want to go there if you're just...waiting for her to show up."

And damn if he doesn't picture it. Coming back from a walk, the dogs with him. Noticing a figure, waiting on his deck. _Alana_. Running across the sand, meeting her halfway, her in his arms...

He closes his eyes and banishes the image, fumbling for words. "It was all...too much." He almost slips up, says Alana's name, before catching himself. That isn't how this works. "She...couldn't forgive herself. _Couldn't._ And I was...I was in a bad place. After the hospital, and the trial." This is safe. This is how he talks about it to Molly: vague and firmly past tense. "She was there for me. Always. But I was...a constant reminder of what she thought was her fault. And her guilt, how much it ate at her...it was a constant reminder of what happened to me. We...we can't forget, when we're together. We were both too...tangled in it." His throat narrows, and Will drops his eyes to the woodwork of Molly's kitchen table. 

Molly watches him, quiet and thoughtful. Molly, who has never seen him at his worst, or anywhere close. Who has nothing to do with Hannibal Lecter or prison or hospitals. He never wakes up from nightmares with the desire, the pulsing _need_ to reach for her. But she doesn't show up in his nightmares, either.

_____________________

_Hey, it's me. Just checking in. Wanted to see how Winston did at the vet. And just say hey, of course. Give me a call back whenever you have time. Bye, Will._

_____________________

He's in Molly's kitchen, cleaning dishes while Willy dries, Molly behind them packing up leftovers, when Will's phone rings.

His chest swells in relief, a reflexive response to Alana's calls, but in the next second he realizes he shouldn't answer. Will dives his soaking wet hand into his pocket to silence the phone, feeling a knot of guilt for doing so forming in his gut.

Molly's looking at him curiously; she's obviously picked up on the fact that he has few acquaintances he keeps in touch with. He talks of no friends or family, and he doesn't even have current work colleagues. He gives her a benign smile. "I'll call them back," and Molly doesn't ask more questions; they aren't at the stage for prying yet.

A moment later there's a beep to indicate a voicemail, and Will hates how badly he wants to hear it. Ten seconds ago, he felt perfectly content, his brain amazingly calm and clear, and now all he wants is to step out of this kitchen, out of the house, and call Alana back.

The after dinner chores, done, Will dutifully follows Molly and Willy into the living room to watch a movie. His phone feels impossibly heavy in his pocket, and not for the first time, it feels like there's a sharp slab of guilt digging into his ribcage. 

He is building something here, a relationship with a woman who knows so little of his darkness it makes it easier for Will to forget about it himself. And yet he is clinging onto Alana for dear life, unwilling and unable to let her go completely. 

Neither of them have any idea, and the dishonesty is eating away at him.

But he never tells Molly about the phone calls; against all logic, it doesn't feel like she's the one he's betraying.

_____________________

_Hello?_

_Hey. Sorry I missed your call._

_No problem. How are you?_

_Not bad. You?_

_I'm good. And Winston?_

_He's good. Back paw's going to be bandaged for awhile though. It was a sharp shell, went in pretty deep._

_Poor guy._

_He did good at the vet's though._

_Yeah, he's tough._

...

_So. Any big Thanksgiving plans?_

_Oh. Probably not. Haven't given it any thought, honestly. It's not til the end of the month._

_I don't like the idea of you just staying home, eating alone._

_That's my usual Thanksgiving. Actually, I think last year was my best one._

_In the hospital?_

_Mmm-hmmm. Remember?_

_I remember you were barely back on solid food._

_You brought ice cream..._

_I didn't know your favorite..._

_So you had maybe twenty of the little Ben and Jerry cartons..._

_And of course you were incredibly boring and went with strawberry._

_Better than vanilla._

_True._

...

...

_...and then I'm pretty sure I was a complete asshole to you._

_No._

_Yeah. I was. It's been a year, Alana, it's okay for you to admit it._

_You were frustrated._

_I was a jerk in the hospital. Almost always._

_Not even close to always._

_I'm sorry._

_You've said that before. You never needed to._

...

...

...

_You should come here._

...

_Sorry, I -_

_You mean for Thanksgiving?_

_Yeah. Or. Okay, maybe Christmas would be better. I know it's a hassle with the dogs, but Will...you shouldn't be alone for holidays._

_What are you doing for Thanksgiving?_

_My brothers are coming into town. Well, two of them are, and my sister-in-law. I think Bev and a few more people may come over._

_Sounds fun._

...

...

_I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. About you visiting. That was -_

_No, it's okay. I wanted you to visit here months ago, remember?_

_Right._

_And it'd be really great to see you. Really, really great, Alana._

...

...

_It's fine. It's still a long way off. Just...think about it._

_Okay._

...

_Alana, there's something I should probably tell you. It's not a big deal, at all, and has nothing to do with Christmas, I just feel strange that you don't know..._

_Okay..._

_I've been seeing someone._

...

...

_Oh._

_It's. She lives about a mile down the beach. Her son was always outside playing, and he would come up to pet the dogs._

...

_It's not...serious. Her husband died, a few years ago, so neither of us are in any hurry to be serious._

...

...

_Right. How, uh...how long?_

_We met four months ago._

...

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you -_

_No, why...why would you have to tell me._

...

...

_Sorry._

_Nothing to be sorry for._

...

_I kept, um. Ha. I kept worrying you were by yourself, too much..._

_Alana -_

_So it's...it's great, Will. I'm glad you're not._

...

...

...

...

_It's not the same._

_Mmm. Listen Will, I've gotta go -_

_Wait a second -_

_Really have to go._

_Alana -_

_Bye, Will._

_____________________

Alana shows up unannounced at her oldest brother's house with a dog and rolling suitcase, and Aaron doesn't ask any questions, just ushers her inside and says that of course she can stay for the weekend.

She doesn't talk much, the first night, and though it's probably killing him not to give into Overprotective Brother mode, Aaron knows not to push her.

So they sit in Aaron's living room, drinking beer and watching hours of television on Netflix. Alana only half watches. She peels a label off her third beer bottle, fingers shaking, trying to deter herself from drinking more. 

Alana hadn't expected this. All this time, she's had this worrisome image in her head of Will's solitary existence: walks on the beach with his dogs, working on lures for hours on end, waking up from nightmares alone. She'd always been left with the impression that the extent of Will's human interaction was small talk with the fishermen at his pier...and phone calls with her.

What's really killing her - what made her cry for twenty minutes after she practically hung up on Will - is that Alana knows this is a good thing for Will.

He should be with someone. He should have someone who cares about him, close by. 

And he should have someone who didn't completely fuck up his life.

Whoever this woman is, whoever Will's seeing...she never believed he murdered anyone. She didn't bring Hannibal Lecter into Will's life. She isn't the reason he spent a year questioning his own sanity, the reason he went to jail, the reason he nearly died. 

Which means she is probably infinitely better for Will than Alana was.

So she should be happy for him.

Instead she's run off to her big brother, not so he can comfort her, but so she's forced to keep herself together in front of him.

_____________________

_Hey, it's me. I... We hung up pretty quickly the other day, and I never got a chance to ask you about, um. Just about your week, and how...um._

_I don't know, Alana, I... Sorry. Just...call me back? Bye._

_____________________

Saturday Aaron doesn't seem to know what to do with her.

The morning is quiet and awkward, and she can see him fighting not to push her into talking. Finally, he stands up from the couch and gives her a purposeful look.

"Let's go for a ride, yeah?"

They get burgers at a drive-thru and drive back roads with no destination. Alana leans her head against the passenger side window while Aaron drums lightly on the steering wheel in time with the classic rock playing on the radio.

It quiets her brain a little. She thinks of being a little kid, when Aaron first had his license and would sometimes take them all on random rides, just to get out of the house. Alana was usually in the backseat, Max or Ben beside her, depending on who called shotgun. Aaron was also her primary shuttle around that time, taking her to school or soccer practices and playdates. 

It had made her feel important, the times she was the only one in the car with Aaron. And him being around made her feel safe. Those were some of the only moments she didn't have to worry about what their mom was doing.

When they've been driving for forty five minutes, Aaron glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Want to talk yet, Al?"

She reaches over and steals one of his fries. "No."

"Fair enough."

_____________________

_Me, again. Just...give me a call when you can? Please?_

_____________________

"Is that Will that keeps calling?"

Alana silences her phone, and then turns it off for good measure. "Yeah."

Aaron nods, grabbing her plate and spooning lasagna onto it. He's quiet for awhile, not looking at his sister. Eventually, he passes Alana her dinner and arches an eyebrow. "Want to get drunk tonight?"

She doesn't mention that she's been trying to limit herself on that, and instead she just nods.

They go to a bar near Aaron's house and match each other shot for shot. They reignite a bitter rivalry in pool. Aaron runs into another teacher from his school - a younger, pretty teacher - and nearly trips over himself to assure her Alana's his sister. She makes fun of him for about half an hour. They take more shots. They call a cab and go home.

"He met someone." 

Alana's lying on the couch, Jude asleep on her stomach, Aaron sprawled nearby on the floor. They're passing a bag of Sour Cream and Onion chips back and forth. 

He blinks blearily up at her. "Will did?"

"Yeah. She like...has a kid, I guess, and lives near him on the beach. And she didn't send him to a serial killer for therapy. So."

"Al." Aaron tries and fails to sit up. He flops back on the ground, groaning, too old for this. "I'm sorry."

She can feel tears in her eyes, and Alana slings an arm over her eyes, angry with herself. "God, I'm acting like a teenager."

"Hey, no. I know what it's like. Remember? Divorce? Tracie got remarried in like a year..."

"Yeah, but it's different. You didn't do anything wrong..." She gives a short, wet laugh. "I fucked up so bad, Aaron."

"No. Not you, Al. You don't fuck up."

She laughs again, harshly. "I do. I _did_. So, so bad." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "It's good he got away from me."

_____________________

_Hey. It's me. At the risk of sounding repetitive...please call me back. I really want to talk to you. I've even been considering texting. Desperate times, right? Bye._

_____________________

She drives home Sunday morning with a hangover and three new missed calls from Will.

And Alana still knows him so well, so she's knows that he's panicking, scared to death that these phone calls, the last thing they have together, are going to stop.

What she can't figure out anymore is why he's holding on so hard. Like she's a bad habit he can't shake. A destructive, unhealthy vice he's convinced himself helps, when it's really just exacerbating the problem. 

Alana lives two hours from Aaron's house, but after twenty minutes she pulls off the highway and takes random backroads. She finds a station that reminds her of Aaron's music and turns it on low.

This time, though, she doesn't want to turn off her brain. Can't. 

Right now, she needs to be thinking. 

She makes the trip home last four hours instead of two, and when she pulls into her driveway, she calls him before even getting out of the car.

_____________________

_Hey._

_Hi._

_Sorry for all the...I think I overdid the calling._

_Maybe a little._

...

...

_Can I say something?_

_Sure._

_I still love you._

...

_Sorry. I just...it seemed important to tell you that hasn't changed._

...

...

_Can I ask...what's her name?_

_Molly._

_And it's good?_

_It's...different. It's not like us._

_But is it making things better?_

...

...

_Yeah._

_Then it's good._

_I think I...I like that she doesn't have anything to do with what happened._

...

...

_That makes sense._

_But it's not..._

...

_When I wake up in the middle of the night, when I've had some nightmare...I still wish you were there. When you call, if I'm with her...I still want to just go talk to you, right that second. Every second, really._

...

_I mean it._

_I know you do. And that's..._

...

...

_What?_

_That's why I think it's a good idea if we don't talk anymore._

...

...

...

_Will?_

_No._

_Will, we can't keep -_

_I didn't tell you about Molly because...that isn't what I meant._

_I know it's not._

_And...I didn't want to hurt you. Ever._

_I know that, too._

...

...

...

_It's not because I'm mad, Will, or upset it's just...I'm not good for you, anymore._

_Alana..._

_Will. Are you coming back here?_

_I...I don't know..._

_I don't think you are._

...

_You left for a reason, Will. You left because...you needed to get away from everything to do with what happened, and..._

...

_...that includes, uh. That includes me._

...

_And if we keep doing this...you're not getting away. Not really and -_

_Alana -_

...

_You have a chance here, Will. You can build a new life, beyond everything he did to you. Everything I did to -_

_No, don't do that._

...

_Hey..._

_S-sorry. Damn it._

_Please don't cry._

_I'm fine. I'm okay, sorry._

...

_And I mean it. I want you to be okay, and to be happy. More than anything, Will, that's all I want._

...

...

_I...I wanted to be happy with you._

...

...

_I know._

...

...

...

...

...

_So. We'll, um. We'll both be fine._

_Alana._

_This is...it's for the best._

...

...

...

_I'm going to go ahead and... and go now._

...

_Bye, Will._

_Bye, Alana._

...

...

...

_Bye._

_Bye._

_____________________

Three weeks after what is supposed to be his final phone call with Alana, Will calls her from Molly's house at three in the morning.

She doesn't answer, and that is how he knows it's over.

It's happened a handful of times, since he moved: a nightmare bad enough that he couldn't quell the instinct to call her. Alana always answered those middle of the night calls, no matter what time, and she stayed on the phone however long he needed.

But tonight the phone rings all the way to her voicemail, and he hangs up fifteen seconds after the beep sounds in his ear.

Will's downstairs in Molly's laundry room, and he stays there for nearly an hour after hanging up - Molly's a heavy sleeper; she's never once woken up when he's startled awake - and he contemplates the finality of this. 

The next day Beverly calls him, purportedly just to say hi, but Will sees through that. Alana probably had her call, just to make sure the late call wasn't something more serious than a bad dream.

Still, he hasn't talked to Bev in months, so they chat amicably for a good half hour or so before hitting a lull. 

Will clears his throat and asks, "How's Alana?"

The long, pregnant pause that follows makes it evident that his attempt at sounding casual failed. 

"We're not going to do that, okay, Will?" Beverly says finally, almost gentle. "I'm not giving you updates."

"But..." He sighs. "Okay. Fair."

_____________________

"Jack?" Alana taps twice on the doorframe of Jack's office.

He looks up, surprised to see her at the Bureau. "Alana. Come on in."

"Sorry to just come by..." She sits in the chair across from his desk. "How's Bella?"

"Up and down. Yesterday was a good day." He pauses, then gives Alana a nod. "Appreciate you stopping by Monday."

She shakes her head, dismissive. "Not a problem."

Silence hovers for a bit, Jack watching her expectantly. Finally, he prompts, "So what can I do for you?"

Alana sets her jaw, steeling herself and meeting Jack's eyes. "I was just going to let you know..." She doesn't want this to feel like a big moment, and yet she can feel the gravity of what she's saying. "If you still want me to...go back to consulting on cases, I...I would be available to do that." 

Jack lifts his eyebrows, clearly surprised at the change. "I am really glad to hear that."

"Great." Alana nods shortly. 

"And there's no pressure. You can ease back in, in whatever capacity you're comfortable with..."

"That's not...it's fine, Jack. The same as before, whenever you need a consult. Really."

"Alright, then."

"Thanks." She stands up to go, but Jack's voice stops her. 

"Alana." She turns. "Can I ask what changed?"

"Nothing really. I just...I think it's time to remind myself that...it's something I can do."

Jack nods, understanding. "Well, I'm glad to have you back. Really, Alana."

_____________________

For awhile, Will can't stop thinking about Alana calling this his _new life_. Until she'd said it, he hadn't even realized that he'd never quite stopped thinking of Florida, and Molly and Willy and everything else that goes along with it, as something transitory.

But slowly, over many months, it does start to feel like his real life. He starts to feel like he's living in the present more than the past.

He establishes routines. He sleeps better. He starts to care about Molly and Willy the way he thinks you might care about family.

And somehow he manages all this without falling out of love with Alana.

It takes months for him to stop cataloguing how long it's been since they last talked. He wakes up on Christmas morning feeling hollow and off balance, and his phone's in his hand all day, though it doesn't ring. 

He gets further away from his move to Florida, and from his last phone call with Alana. Molly's innocent belief that he is whole and stable starts to feel closer to the truth. 

But Alana still trips him up.

The rental period on his house ends, and he realizes he's practically living with Molly anyway, so they make it official. It begins to feel like home. And yet he still wakes up some mornings, disoriented from some dream mingling with memory, and expects to find Alana beside him.

It doesn't take much to throw Will back. He'd thought they were bound by one final string, the phone calls, and that Alana had cut it, and that was the end. But there are hundreds, thousands, of strings left, a tangled mess inside him, each of them a trigger. A song on the radio, the whiff of a smell, a certain choice of words, the laugh of a stranger in public...he can be fine for weeks, and then something will puncture him, and it's like a splinter in his chest for the rest of the day. 

But Will accepts that as his reality. It seems that part of this _new life_ he's building includes missing Alana in way he's never missed anything his life. It's an ache that fills all the cracks inside him, and it's dull and manageable until the moment the crack bursts open, the ache spills out, and suddenly it's not.

_____________________

Alana exists on routine and filled time, and slowly she has regained some sort of balance.

Every day Alana reminds herself that Will is happy. That he is strong, and he is putting himself back together. That he isn't alone.

She reminds herself that she didn't ruin his life irreparably. 

And she stoically carries with her the swell of longing that comes from missing him, the sting of hurt in her lungs. And some days she can almost believe that's enough of a punishment. 

It's been over a year since Will left, and Alana's finishing a class in a lecture hall they used to share when Beverly pushes through the crowd of exiting trainees. 

"Hey." Alana gives her friend a curious look, unaccustomed to seeing Beverly at the Academy. "What are you doing here?"

Bev comes closer, and Alana sees the look on her face; distinctly uncomfortable, etched with dread. Alana's smile drops. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, everything's fine." There's a piece of paper in her hand. "I just...thought you should hear this from me." She makes a face. "For lack of a preferable source."

"Hear what from...?" Alana's voice trails off as Beverly hands her the small, thick rectangle. 

It's a Save the Date. For the wedding of Will Graham and Molly Foster.

For a second, her mind goes blank, and the words on the invitation may as well be hieroglyphics. 

Then, she thinks very distinctly of one memory.

_She's on the edge of a pier, her feet dangling into the lake water, Winston stretched out beside her. Will's close by, thigh deep in the lake, fly fishing. It's his first time fishing since prison, and she could watch him forever, the peace on his face. They're quiet, content. The air's thick with the scent of coming rain, but she can't bring herself to tear Will away._

_When the rain starts she wades out to him, wraps her arms around his waist and hooks her chin over his shoulder. The rain thickens around them, and Will lets go of the fishing pole, letting it drop into the water, and turns into her. Alana burrows against his coat. He's holding her so tight, and they stay like that for a long time before Will pulls back to look at her. His eyes are clear and steady and shining, and they don't move away. They crinkle at the corners as he smiles, and her throat tightens with more love than she'd ever have thought herself capable. She thinks that this - _him_ \- could make her happy for the rest of her life. _

"Alana?" Beverly's voice is slow, cautious. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Alana hands the invitation back and doesn't look up; she isn't sure what her face is showing. "I'm happy for him."

"You don't have to be."

"I am." She grabs her bag, packing up papers and her laptop so she doesn't have to look up. "This is what I want, Bev."

"Al..." She'd picked up the nickname from Alana's brothers over the last holidays, but the _don't bullshit me_ tone is all Bev.

"I mean it. All I wanted is for him to be able to move past this. To be happy." She sets her jaw and clenches shaking hands into fists before she looks up, expression almost defiant. "I needed to know that I didn't fuck up his life forever. And I haven't. So I'm glad. He's _happy_."

Beverly's face softens into sympathy. "And what about you?"

Something shuts down behind Alana's eyes, and she gives a thin, weary smile. "I'm fine."

_____________________

Will doesn't sleep the night before his wedding.

He lays awake, retracing his steps, from the phone calls bursting at the seams with longing and all the way back, to tentative friendship and falling in love.

Molly loves Will because she does not know who he was ( _is_ ). Because she has never seen his instability or his brokenness or the dark spaces of his mind.

Alana saw it all. She saw him weak and angry and broken. Saw him unstable and uncertain.

And she loved him anyway.

____________________

She doesn't cry until she wakes up on the day of his wedding.

It makes Alana feel stupid and small and selfish, curled in her bed first thing in the morning with her teeth clenched around a wad of sheets, even though there's no one around to hear her sobbing.

When it's finally over, Alana just lies there, thoroughly sick of herself. She's made changes; she let Will go, and she stopped with the constant self-medication, and she's even gone back forensic profiling without letting self doubt become crippling.

And yet nothing's changed inside her head. It's still the same gnarled, black mess of guilt and shame and hurt. 

That's the mess she really needs to sort through.

She has to go see him.

It's impulsive, but she seizes onto it, without stopping to consider motivation or consequences. Alana gets out of bed, gets dressed, gets in her car, and drives.

_____________________

All day Will can feel fear vining around his veins, the fear that he is making a mistake he can't take back.

Molly looks beautiful in her dress, and happy, but Will can't help but hoping she's secretly thinking of her first wedding day, because it might make him feel a fraction better about the fact that, today of all days, he can finally admit a truth to himself, the thing that's been scratching at his brain for months.

All this time, and he still just wants Alana.

_____________________

While somewhere, a thousand miles away, Will is preparing to marry someone else, Alana is walking through the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

She has not spoken to Hannibal since everything happened, over two years ago, and has seen him only briefly at the trial, though she'd spent most of that time not letting herself look.

Those first few weeks in the hospital, while Will was barely clinging to life, she'd had a laser focus on him that reduced everything else - even her own guilt or her anger at Hannibal - to a sort of blurry peripheral vision. 

The anger came, of course. Pure rage like nothing Alana had ever experienced, the sort of fury that could permanently warp you. Jack had been surprised Alana always refused his offers to accompany him on interrogations to Baltimore; he knew better than anyone that she rarely hesitated in expressing her anger. 

Yet this was different. Alana knows herself, and she knows her temper, and thus she had known she wouldn't be able to keep it in check. But anger was useless. Hannibal would not be made to feel guilty or ashamed. The most she could hope for was some mild, disconnected pity, and the thought of that made her stomach turn.

So Alana never went. Until now, on Will's wedding day.

The steel door of the maximum security section closes behind Alana, and she makese her way down the once familiar tier. Her chest constricts suddenly with the irrational fear that he will be in the same cell that once housed Will. She knows that cell by heart, knows the feel of the distance down the corridor.

Hannibal's closer to the doors, and on the opposite side. Strangely, she's glad for that.

He's sitting at a table that's bolted to the floor of the cell, writing. He looks up, spots her, and graces her with a smile, as mild and untainted as though he's greeting her at a dinner. "Alana. I was wondering when you might come by."

And there it is, her anger, flaring to life in her nerves, dizzying in it's intensity. She bites down hard on the inside of her lip, not letting it show. She nods once, curtly. "Hannibal."

"Why don't you have a seat? I think there are some folding chairs in a closet just down that way."

"That's alright, I won't be staying long."

Hannibal's eyes linger on her for a long moment, taking her in. It's not an unfamiliar look, but it makes her skin crawl. Defiantly, Alana doesn't break eye contact.

"Did you get my Christmas card?"

"I did." She'd ripped it to the tiniest shreds her fingers could manage and thrown the pieces into a fire.

"I planned to send you and Will a joint card. But Freddie Lounds informed me that was no longer applicable. I was sorry to hear it."

It almost falls apart, right then. The monster in her chest digs its claws into Alana's lungs, and she can feel words and accusations straining against the sides of her throat, begging to be screamed. She doesn't trust herself to reply.

Hannibal's eyes gleam, sensing the crack in her facade. "So. Alana. What is it that brings you by? After two years I've given up hope of a social visit."

Gathering herself, Alana tightens her jaw and fixes her former mentor with a level stare. "Should I have known?"

He doesn't pretend to misunderstand her, just gives a soft, immediate laugh. "Of course not. You couldn't have. Only Will."

Alana hates him saying Will's name. It makes her guts coil up, her fingers curl into fists. "Don't talk about him," she bites out before she can stop herself.

Hannibal ignores that, continuing in a conciliatory tone, "I don't mean that disrespectfully. You know I have the utmost admiration of your abilities, Alana. Always have. It's why I took an interest in you during residency. You were very...interesting." For a second, she slips up and looks away. "And I took great care to make sure you never had reason to suspect me. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself."

He stands up, approaching the bars. "Do you know why Will caught me?"

"I told you," Alana forces out between gritted teeth. "Not to talk about him."

"You always want to see the good in people, Alana. Loyal to a fault. That was your one mistake with me...and your mistake with Will." He leans close, smiling at her. "Do you know why Will caught me?"

She can feel the bitter, acidic taste of bile rising in the back of her throat, and Alana swallows hard and turns away, starting to go, until Hannibal's voice stops her.

"He caught me because we're just alike."

She turns at that, meeting Hannibal's eyes. Her rage settles, and Alana smiles humorlessly back at him. "No. You've always had that wrong about him." She takes a few steps back toward the cell, calm and controlled. "He can understand you. He can think like you. But you're not special. He can think like _anyone_. And the way you think...it's everything Will stands against." She shakes her head a little, like _Hannibal_ is the one she pities. "He's nothing like you." With that, she turns, heels clicking down the corridor as she leaves.

_____________________

He spots Beverly and Jack at the reception and something inside Will unravels.

He'd sent them invitations so he would have at least a few names to give Molly, but he hadn't counted on this. On how tied they are with Alana...with the life he gave up for good today.

Jack claps Will on the back and Beverly hugs him, they congratulate him and exchange banal small talk, catching up, but her name is in the air between them from start to finish. Will's eyes barely leave Beverly's, his gaze practically begging her to divulge something, anything, about Alana.

But the conversation ends without a mention, and soon he's being tugged off to meet some of Molly's college friends. There's dancing and food and constant introductions, and before he knows it, Molly's taking his head and saying, "Ready for the send off?"

His throat locks up. They are supposed to be leaving for their honeymoon, and then they will return to the house in Florida with Willy and begin their married life.

He has not spoken to Alana for a year. Hasn't seen her in even longer. And after today, he may very well never see or talk to Beverly or Jack or anyone from that old life ever again.

"Give me a minute, okay? I need to say goodbye to Bev."

Will's frantic as he moves through the crowd, eyes darting for Beverly or Jack. He starts to worry they've left already, and nearly collapses with relief when he finds Beverly coming out of the bathroom.

"Will, hey..."

"Hey, we're...we're about to leave, and I just...I wanted to thank you for coming and...say goodbye..."

The corner of Beverly's lips quirks up, not buying it. "Anything else?"

He drops the pretense. "How's Alana?" Her name breaks apart in his throat, and he wonders how long it's been since he said it out loud. 

Beverly's face neutralizes, expression impassive. "She's fine."

A desperate, strangled sound escapes Will before he can stop it. "Bev, please. Give me something, here."

"I can only tell you what she tells me, Will. And she says she's fine."

"And she knows about...?"

Bev laughs a little. "No, Will, Jack and I told her we were just taking off for a joint vacation. Of course she knows."

He's quiet, unable to figure out how to say what he really wants.

Eventually, Beverly sighs. "Will, what do you want me to say? You got married."

He squeezes his eyes shut, hearing the weight of her voice and everything it implies. After a long, long time, he says quietly, "I miss her like hell."

Will's eyes stay closed until he feels Beverly's hand on his arm. "Will," she says gently. "More than anything, Alana wants you to be happy. I think she was afraid she'd made that impossible." Slowly, he lifts his head to look at her. "My advice? Go be happy."

She hugs him, then walks away, and Will feels another string inside him snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was going to make this a two shot, but decided to expand it to three so the _Red Dragon_ timeline can get it's own chapter. That's what's up next.


	3. how's your halo? just between you and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter is kind of long, and it runs pretty much parallel with _Red Dragon_ , so obviously here be spoilers. I mainly focused on the changes here - the way the Alana/Will history, as well as the differences in the history in general, and the characters, would change things from the novel. So, obviously, I didn't do things like write Will's visit to Hannibal in prison, since that already exists in the novel.
> 
> There are some lines here, particularly case related lines, or some of Molly and Will's conversations (before they diverge) that are taken from the book.

_It's been a long year_  
 _Since we last spoke_  
 _How's your halo?_  
 _Just between you and I_

"You can't be serious. Literally, you _can't_ be. I refuse to accept that you would actually be that selfish, Jack."

Alana is standing over his desk, practically vibrating with anger. Her eyes are blazing, jaw set, shoulders squared as though ready for a stand off. She is every inch the protector, the champion.

This is their first step backwards in time, but it will not be their last.

Jack gives her a look that's more weary than irritated. "Alana. We need him."

She scowls at the _we_ , swallowing a dozen retorts about her own _need_ when it comes to Will, and how little it matters. "He isn't a tool you can order off the internet anytime you can't get the job done. He doesn't even _do_ this work anymore, Jack, and he definitely doesn't work for you. You have no right to pull him back in."

"I know I don't," he replies calmly. "I can only ask. He has every right to say no." 

"But you don't just ask." Alana fixes him with an accusatory glare. "You _manipulate_."

"Will's a grown man, Alana," Jack counters flatly. "Surely he's capable of making the decision."

"He shouldn't even be put in that position," she shoots back heatedly. "After everything he went through, how could you even _think_ about putting him through it again..."

"But I wouldn't be." Jack arches an eyebrow. "We all thought the job was getting to him, but in reality it was the encephalitis. And Hannibal. Neither is a factor anymore, so really, what's the risk?"

For a moment, Alana's so incredulously angry she can't speak. When she finally does, it's louder than she intended, "Was it the encephalitis that gave him nightmares for _months_ after Hannibal attacked him? Or the panic attacks, or the insomnia? Do you realize how long it took him to get past that, do you realize how far away he had to go?" Her voice cracks a little, and the barest hint of sympathy flickering in Jack's eyes makes her meaner. "Even you can't possibly be deluding yourself into thinking that doesn't matter. That it doesn't make any part of this case - or _any_ case - a trigger for him." She folds her arms, done with this. " _No_. Forget it."

"It's not your call, Alana," Jack says quietly, fixing her with a steady, measured look. "I wasn't asking, simply letting you know." He pauses, then adds, "I've already bought a ticket to Florida for the weekend." 

Alana lets out a harsh, hollow laugh, turning away, unable to look at him. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and after a moment says in a low voice, "He won't agree. He...he has a family now. It's not the same as before. He'll say no."

"Maybe," Jack acknowledges. He narrows his eyes a little, scrutinizing her. "But based on how worried you look, you know there's a chance he says yes."

It's only when he says it that Alana realizes it's true. And suddenly there is a war going on in her chest, a stubborn, selfish ray of hope and _wanting_ trying to peak through the black cloud of anger and concern. 

She hasn't seen Will in more than two years. And she doesn't want this to be how it happens, but goddamn does she miss him.

_____________________

It is her name that does it.

Will sits with Jack Crawford at a picnic table between the house and the ocean, Molly and Willy just faintly visible further down the beach, and he listens to Jack tell him about two families killed in Alabama and Birmingham, and all the while Will's telling himself there's no way he goes back. And yet something keeps him asking questions, keeps him from shutting Jack down swiftly and definitively, and Will can't even admit to himself what it is until Jack says her name.

"Alana thinks he may be disfigured, or he may believe he's disfigured." Jack's voice is innocuous, slipped into the greater conversation about the details of the killer they're calling the Tooth Fairy, but he's watching Will closely. 

He planned this moment; she is his trump card.

It has the desired effect; Will goes quiet, and he finally let's the thoughts he's been holding in check since Jack first arrived to rush forward.

He would get to see Alana. 

"She's working this?" he asks quietly, just to fill the moment.

"She is." Jack's eyes are shrewd. He knows the power of this fact.

There are other factors tempting him: Will's useless forensics degree, the often suffocating idle time, the comparative meaninglessness of repairing boat motors, the enticement of saving lives.

And yet she is the only factor strong enough to slice through his trepidations. For just a second he isn't thinking of Molly, or Willy, or the overwhelmingly dark memories of that old life. 

For just a second, Will is only thinking of Alana.

Jack sees it, and he pounces, making his case. "Will, I don't think you want to wait here in the Keys and read about the next dead family in your Miami _Herald_. And I think we have a better chance to get him fast if you help. Hell, Will, saddle up and help us. Go to Atlanta and Birmingham and look, then come on to Washington. Just TDY."

Will doesn't reply right away. Atlanta and Birmingham will mean crime scenes and death. It will mean making himself look, opening a part of his mind he wrenched shut over two years ago.

But Washington will mean Alana.

Jack is telling him to think about it, to talk to Molly, and to let him know after dinner. And Will is nodding, but somewhere, deep in his chest, he already knows he'll say yes.

_____________________

"He agreed, Alana. He's in."

She doesn't answer. Can't. Something's twisting in her chest, a maddeningly collision of dread and relief, nerves and anger. She can't sort it all out.

The anger is the simplest, the easiest to deal with, so after a second she grabs hold of that, gritting out over the phone, "The only reason you and I are on speaking terms is because of this case. And because I don't trust you with him. So I'm going to tell you this, again: _don't let him get too close_."

Groaning, Jack replies, "Good God, Alana, you act as though everything that happened to him before was my fault. We both know that isn't true." 

Alana goes instantly silent, and it takes a few beats for Jack to realize his mistake, to remember who he's talking to and the issues she has regarding _fault_ and _blame_. He hastily adds, "Meaning it was _Hannibal's_. Not mine, and _not_ yours."

She changes the subject, though the sting is still evident in her voice. "When is he coming?" 

"We're flying to Atlanta tonight. He'll need a day or two there, then a few more in Birmingham. Probably be in DC by early next week."

Alana's throat narrows, and for a brief moment she lets herself put her worry for Will on hold, and just take in the fact that she's actually going to see him.

 _He's married_ , comes the hiss from the back of her mind, the one that likes to remind her of that fact far too often.

She tells herself that of course she knows that, knows that everything will be different. There are two and a half years and mountains of baggage between them. Alana isn't foolish enough to believe that Will, and everything they once were to each other, hasn't irrevocably changed.

_____________________

Molly doesn't ask about Alana, and at first Will thinks it just never occurred to her; but there is a moment at the airport, before she drops him off, when his wife seems like she wants to say something but stops herself.

Will can't help but be relieved.

The next day, he and Jack sit in a diner in Atlanta, a few hours after Will went to the crime scene. He's having trouble pulling himself away from it, mentally. He's pale, and his hands are trembling, and Will sees the moment Jack notices. It's only a few beats later that Jack mentions, "Alana says she wouldn't be surprised if we heard from the Tooth Fairy. Said he might write us a note."

Again, she has been strategically mentioned, and again, it works, reminding Will that this storm he's walking into comes with one hell of a silver lining.

_____________________

While Will works the case from Atlanta, Alana monitors indirectly by keeping in close touch with Jack.

He's back in Washington by the third day, having returned to testify for a trial. She nearly bites his head off when she found out he left Will alone, but drops that when Jack throws her a sharp look and says, "You're welcome to fly out and join him."

That argument is nothing, however, compared to the one two days later, when Jack informs Alana that Will is going to see Hannibal.

"And you're going to _let_ him?!"

She eventually hangs up on him in frustration, unable to argue with the fact that the consult was very much Will's idea, not Jack's. But it leaves her feeling sick all morning, and three times she almost breaks down and calls him, to offer to go with him so he doesn't have to do this alone.

Fear of overstepping stops her, and instead she calls Chilton to make it clear he is to make the visit as easy on Will as possible: no prying, no analyzing before or after.

_____________________

He holds Chilton's words - _We'd still love it if you talked to some of the staff - no, no, not this trip. Dr. Bloom was very severe on that, we're to leave you alone._ \- in the back of his head throughout the visit with Hannibal. When he feels himself losing his mind to anger or, worse, to a reflection of Hannibal's madness, Will seizes onto this small reminder that she is somewhere, close by, and that just like before, she is looking out for him.

There is no reason for him to stop by the Hoover; he will have to be at the airport to fly to Birmingham in a few hours.

But as he leaves the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, bad memories nipping at his heels, Will tries to ground himself by considering the fact that this is the closest he has been to Alana in two and a half years.

He sits in his rental car, numb except for dreading the loss of numbness, and he stares at her name in his phone, at the top of his contact list. He can sense that feeling coming on, the one that always trapped him when he woke up from a nightmare in the hospital, or was overtaken by a panic attack some ordinary morning in his old house: the feeling that he _needs_ to see Alana, that everything will be okay if only she is there, holding him together.

He could call. He could find out where she is and he could get there, fairly quickly, the first time in so long that he's had that luxury.

But Will stops himself. He knows he's coming back here in a few days anyway, when he finishes in Birmingham, and he will definitely see her then, but for some reason, he makes himself put it off. Like he still needs that hope, the promise of Alana, to carry with him to another crime scene.

_____________________

Three days later, Will takes the metro from the airport to the Hoover building, and Jack meets him at the escort desk to augment Will's hastily issued credentials. They talk in Jack's office for awhile, discussing the case, and Hannibal's recent notes, and eventually Jack gets a call.

"Lab's ready for us."

His heart jumps into his throat. "Who's gonna be there?"

Jack's lips twitch, almost a smirk. "Just Beverly, Price, and Zeller, as far as I know. Whole team. Ready for a reunion?"

Disappointment swoops in his stomach, but he just nods and forces a smile before following Jack.

It's another instance of falling back in time, following Jack into the harsh bright white of the forensics lab, his eyes trying to avoid settling on corpses.

Zeller and Price are standing over a table, Zeller making notes in a file. They smile and shake Will's hand and clap him on the back, and all the while Will feels like he's barely there.

Then the door opens and Beverly walks in, a paper coffee cup in her hand and Alana walking beside her.

They're in the middle of conversation, but Alana's voice fades mid sentence, and she freezes, her eyes locking with Will's. 

He's been waiting for this all week, and somehow it still knocks him sideways. A shocked, awed smile blooms on Will's face, and a shaky, gasp of a laugh jerks out of him. His eyes can't seem to leave hers, like his every instinct is reversed when it comes to her, and for a moment Will forgets where they are.

Alana casts everything else in shadow, and it only takes five seconds for him to know: he has never fallen out of love with her.

He'd just let those feelings freeze somewhere inside his chest, dormant and harmless. Slivers break off sometime and puncture him, or corners melt temporarily. But it's contained, and for the year since his marriage, he's made sure the slips are manageable.

Now, though, she whispers his name involuntarily, just " _Will_ ", voice so tender it's almost raw, and her smile may as well be a lit match, held against his insides. 

It's not a slow thaw. It's an instantaneous melting, that leaves his chest hot and his lungs doused in ice water.

" _Hey_ ," he breathes out.

Someone behind them, either Price or Zeller mutters _Oh, boy_ , and everyone is staring at them, but neither he or Alana can figure out how to move forward, how to break this moment.

Will has no idea how long he and Alana have been staring at each other when Beverly steps up to hug him, but she lets go quickly, and that makes it okay for him to move forward and hug Alana. 

For the first few seconds it's awkward, the hug all stiff spines and shoulder blades, like they're both too scared to sink right back into each other.

But instinct kicks in, and he tightens his arms around Alana. She immediately folds against him, and it's as though knots he didn't even know existed are unraveling in his chest.

"Imissedyou," she whispers soft and fast against his ear, before gently pulling away.

Everyone else is pointedly looking away, giving them the tiniest bit of privacy possible. 

Jack glances back and forth between them. "You two ready?"

They nod, but they stay close. He feels like an exposed nerve, open and raw and overly attuned to her proximity. It's a struggle to focus on the conversation, the exchange of information and the implications of it. 

Eventually, Zeller and Price file out, and then Crawford. Beverly lingers for a moment, giving him a crooked smile. "Good to see you back, champ. You're looking good."

"Thanks, Bev." 

She glances at Alana and then back to Will. "Let's all do drinks, soon, okay?"

"Sure."

She and Alana exchange a quick look, and then Beverly leaves them alone.

Their eyes meet again, and after a beat they both laugh, awkward and uncertain. 

"Hey."

"Hi." After a beat, Alana reaches out touches him lightly, pointlessly, on the chest, her eyes taking him all in. "I...I can't believe you're here."

"I know."

"I was...really pissed at Jack, for asking. I wasn't sure what you'd say."

"I honestly surprised myself a little. Thought I was done with this for good." 

The nervous smiles fades from her expression, and Alana asks him seriously, "How did he convince you?"

"He didn't have to do much really," Will tells her. "I'd seen the cases on the news, and of course I'd thought about it. Two years of fixing boat motors, I guess I was starting to feel a little...unfulfilled." He doesn't mention the part she played in his decision.

Alana's face darkens anyway, eyes full of leftover animosity at Jack. But the anger seeps out of her face almost instantly, and she refocuses on Will. The warm concern in her eyes is so familiar it aches. "How's it been?"

"I think...okay." He can feel her searching his face, gauging the honesty, and Will tries for a small smile. "I have an advantage this time. Brain's not swollen." 

She doesn't smile. Her hand lifts a fraction at her side, but she checks the urge to reach out and touch him. "I heard...you went to Baltimore?"

He grimaces. "Yeah. Thank you, for talking to Chilton."

Unconsciously taking a step closer to him, Alana asks, "How was it? Seeing him?" She makes a face, maybe realizing the obviousness of the answer. "I mean...are you okay?"

There was a time when he would have flinched under her persistent concern, hating the way it emphasized his weakness. But now, after pretending to be fine for so long, and having no one know enough to question it, Alana's protectiveness cloaks him like a warm, familiar blanket.

"I think so," he tells her honestly. This time he takes a step closer. "Have you been to see him?" 

Her eyes skirt away. "Once." Will waits, but she doesn't offer anymore, and for a few beats the silence gets awkward again.

But then Alana looks up and smiles. "You're very tan."

He grins wryly. "Yeah, I've been told."

"I like it. You look good, Will." Meaning he looks health, stable. 

"Yeah, so do you." Meaning she looks beautiful. Their eyes meet again, the air between them going thick with everything: with their history, with how much it matters, how much they still feel for each other. Will can almost feel the years dissolving, and he forgets himself, lifting his left hand and letting his thumb graze her cheek. "I really, really missed you."

The moment hovers, dizzying, like they're leaning over an edge and could so easily fall.

But then Alana covers his hand in hers and lifts it away, staring down at the wedding ring on his finger. Will's gut tightens, and he's ashamed that his first thought is that he should have taken it off.

Alana takes a deliberate step back, letting go of his hand. She's smiling when she looks up again, but now it's tight and strained.

"It's good to see you." His heart catches at the determined distance in her voice. "Where are you staying?"

"Holiday Inn."

There's a beat of silence, and he can see in Alana's eyes she's thinking the same thing he is, of his little house and the Sold sign in its yard. 

Finally, she nods. "I've gotta go, do some work for class, but...you should go talk to Beverly. We can all get dinner or something, she'll text me."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go see her now."

"Good. I'll see you later, okay?" She starts to head out of the lab. 

"Alana?" 

She turns.

"I'm...really glad you're here." 

Her smile looks like it's painful to hold. "I'm glad you're here, too. I just wish it wasn't for...all this." She waves a hand, indicating the lab, the bodies. "See ya, Will."

_____________________

When she gets outside the lab, Alana's struck with the feeling that she hasn't been breathing properly for the past hour.

She'd been so wrong. It isn't the way they've changed that's going to kill her...it's all the ways they haven't.

There's no distance between them, and nothing has been diminished. A single look had made that obvious. It was like falling back in time.

Alana doesn't understand it. A year and a half without a word to each other. Another year before that they'd last been in the same state.

It doesn't make sense that she should still be this damn in love with him.

But it was there in Will's eyes, too. And that's what made her move away.

She'd fucked up everything for Will once before. She won't do it again. She won't destroy what he's built for himself. 

She once ruined his life. She will not ruin his marriage.

_____________________

Will has dinner with Alana and Beverly, at a restaurant near his hotel. They catch up, but it's surface level chat. He's avoiding mentioning Molly or Willy, and that leaves him without much to say.

Alana leaves with Beverly, so he doesn't get another chance to talk to her alone, and somehow it leaves him with an acute sense of longing that reminds him of the first, lonely weeks in Florida.

So he goes back to his hotel and makes his nightly phone call to Molly, but less than two minutes in, she falls silent for a moment, not responding to some innocuous thing Will said. 

Eventually, she says, "Something's different."

"What?"

"With you, you sound..." Her voice trails off, and then, her whole voice changing, Molly asks quietly, "You saw her, didn't you?"

It's been awhile since she's mentioned Alana, even in the old vague, nameless way, and it trips him up. Will's unsure if he should feign confusion, and his ensuing silence acts as a confirmation.

"I wondered if you would." There's no suspicion in Molly's tone; somehow, in spite of everything - the marriage, the time they've put in - she sounds just like she used to, back when they first met, when they were first being drawn together by the loss of someone else. No surprise, no judgment.

"Sorry," he murmurs. 

"Is that why you went?"

"No." His answer is fast, leaving Will's mouth burning with the aftertaste of an almost lie.

"Alright." Her tone is carefully neutral, and it's not clear if she believes him.

_____________________

They fall back even further.

Before they were together. Before Will went to jail. Before _I have feelings for you_ and _you're not broken_ , before their first kiss. They go back before Jack put Will back into the field, before Alana's protectiveness and worry overrode her desire to maintain a boundary between them.

Meaning Alana is once again avoiding being alone in a room with him. 

She slips into her old role. Keeping Jack in check, acting as a buffer, giving Will his chances to talk or tell her he's not okay, all the wile making sure they are never one on one. 

And yet it's nothing like it used to be. This time, they know what they're missing out on, know the other side of _just friends_. The knowledge leads to a palpable longing, swirling in their eyes, bursting in the spaces between their words. 

Then the hint of a threat to Molly and Willy comes. Will helps move them safely to Jack's brother's house, much closer to him, but still fear and guilt and a deep, sickening sense of shame keeps him up all night. It's enough for him to stay away from Alana altogether for a day.

But only a day.

_____________________

"Where did Will go?" Alana asks Jack, taking a seat in his office following a call with Freddie Lounds.

"He'll walk around and cool off," Crawford tells her. "He hates Lounds."

Alana's quiet for a moment. "Did you think you might lose him? After Hannibal published his address?"

"For a minute, I did. It shook him."

Eyes on the ground, Alana mutters, "Understandably."

"Then I realized, he can't go home, and neither can Molly or Willy, never, until the Tooth Fairy is out of the way." Alana doesn't say anything, and Jack wisely drops the subject.

"I have a medium where I can speak to the Tooth Fairy."

" _Tattle Crime_?"

"Right." 

They discuss possible ways of drawing the killer out of hiding, a symbiotic, intelligent discussion until Jack says, "Could we enrage him and focus his attention?"

Alana's eyes flash, her posture stiffening. "He's already fixated on Will as his adversary and you know it. Don't bullshit me, Jack. You want to use Will as bait, don't you?"

He grimaces in anticipation of what's coming. "I think I have to do it."

"Screw you, Jack."

"Alana..."

" _No_. I'm done. It's bad enough you dragged him back here, forced him to confront the man who nearly killed him, and now you've put his family in danger and made it so he _can't_ go home even if he wants to -"

"Please," Jack makes a scoffing sound. "You're really going to look me in the face and tell me _you_ want him home?"

Alana fixes Jack with a cold, unforgiving stare. "You really know nothing, Jack. _Yes_ , I want Will to go home. I want him to be happy, and _safe_ , even if that means him being somewhere else, with _someone_ else. At least then he'd be away from you. Believe me, that's all I want."

For a long moment, they stare at each other, an impasse. Slowly, Jack leans forward, pursing his lips, expression dead serious. "Like it or not, Will's part of this investigation now. There's no walking away for him. And this strategy is a legitimate one; if it was any other agent, you wouldn't even blink. Which means, Alana, that _you_ are the one with the problem. You're thinking with your emotions; you care about Will, and you don't want him put at risk. Which is understandable, but I _can't_ and _won't_ base my decisions around that."

She jerks to her feet, pacing in front of Jack's death, frustrated and frightened, hating the logic of what Jack's saying. Hating how entangled Will already is in this case, how there are no easy outs for him anymore. 

"I won't help you," she mutters eventually, fight already drained from her voice.

"We'll need you to." Jack sounds exhausted. "You'll need to be part of Freddie's interview. You and Will."

Alana rounds on him. "Why not just me then? I'll say whatever you want, badmouth the Tooth Fairy and then give him a shot..."

The last traces of anger drain from Jack's eyes, and he gives her an apologetic look; Alana finds it difficult to scheme toward hurt and manipulation, even in regards to criminals, so for her to offer is indicative of her desperation. Almost gently, he says, "You know why, Alana."

She grits her teeth, angry because she does; the Tooth Fairy is already fixated on Will, and thus setting _him_ up will be the surest way to draw the killer out. A random psychiatrist may not be enough. "He has to know the entire risk. And agree to it voluntarily. I have to _hear him say it_ , Jack."

He nods, conceding. "That's fair."

She sighs and sits back down, wrapping her fingers around the edge of her chair to stop them from shaking. She and Jack continue to plan out the interview with Freddie, what it will entail, and all the while Alana reassures herself with Kevlar, and the agents who will lying in wait watching Will's back.

_____________________

Alana and Will do the interview with Lounds, speculating and badmouthing the Tooth Fairy, Will in particular. There are photos of Will that sneakily reveal a temporary residence, where the trap will be set. Will even consents to a photo with Freddie as she interviews him, a comradely hand on her shoulder as they pose.

In the end, though, the trap is never set, and Freddie Lounds is the one murdered. 

It's gruesome, and horrific, and she suffers. 

Will feels nothing he can name, just nausea and an occasional wave of sickly exhilaration that he had not burned to death instead of Lounds.

Alana vomits in the trash can beside her desk when she hears what happened, but as she crouches on the floor, cold and trembling, all she can feel is relief that it wasn't Will.

_____________________

Assuming Will's the next target, they move him to one of the apartments the FBI keeps for expert witnesses before trials, with Jack staying across the hall. He's monitored closely all day, and it seems important that he keeps moving. Alana calls him three times, with flimsy excuses, and he knows she just needs to hear he's okay.

That night, he calls Molly; she'd known nothing of the plan for him to be bait, and she thinks he should have told her.

And then Molly lets him know she's taking Willy to see his grandparents; her late husband's parents, the ones with the ranch in Oregon, the ones who call him _Mr.Graham_ and don't make it a secret that they want Willy to be with them more. The place Molly went to stay after her late husband died.

Stupidly, meanly, Will wonders if she chose there on purpose, as retaliation. the closest she can get to matching Will's encounter with Alana. 

"I'll miss you. We both will," Molly's saying, and Will can tell she's made up her mind. He also gets the sense there's something long term about her plan. Anxiety is tearing at his stomach, and he isn't sure what exactly is giving him the feeling of finality. 

"When are you going?" 

"In the morning."

"What about the shop?" He's referring to her boutique, and he's expecting some sort of reassurance that surely she won't gone that long, that she can afford to close or have her assistant manager continue to run it for the brief interim.

Instead, she says, "Evelyn wants it. I'll underwrite the fall stuff with the wholesalers, just for the interest, and she can keep what she makes."

"The dogs?"

"I asked her to call the county, Will. I'm sorry, but maybe somebody will take some of them."

Will's insides contract. _No_.

He sleepwalks through the rest of the conversation, getting flight information, talking money, logistics. 

But he cannot stop thinking about the last time the dogs were taken away. Of Alana, without him even asking, going to get them. Taking them home, promising to keep them until _whenever_. 

It's not at all the same, and there's nothing fair about the comparison. But thinking about Winston, Fitz, Bear, all of them, being stuffed into cages and carried away doesn't make him want to be fair.

When he hangs up the phone, he leaves the empty apartment and drives to Alana's. 

_____________________

"Will?" She opens the main door but leaves the screen one between them, fear unmistakeable in her eyes. "What are you...?"

"I'm sorry. I know you've been...avoiding this. Me." 

"It's not that, Will, I thought you were staying in the apartments."

"I know. I left Jack a note."

Her eyes widen. " _Will_ , what if - "

"It's okay. He doesn't expect me to be moving, not in the middle of the night. And he has no reason to look for me here." Will's hand is braced on the door frame, and his eyes are begging. "Alana...the dogs, they're...they're gone. Molly, she...she called the county, they took them."

"Oh, _Will_." Instantly, her eyes swell with sadness, and against her better judgment Alana pushes open the screen door. "Come in."

"She had to," Will says as he follows her inside, the words coming too fast. "She didn't have a choice, I'm the reason she isn't...safe at home, now, I've fucked everything up, I dragged her and Willy into my world, that's my fault, so really I can't be mad at her for it..."

The muscles in Alana's face are pulled tight, and there's something stoic in her eyes, like she's letting the hurt of him talking about his wife roll over her, accepting it. The look chills him; Will recognizes it, from before. It was the expression she got every time he snapped at her, any time he bit out some harsh remark. It's the look that means she's accepting her punishment.

He makes himself stop talking.

Barking echoes through the hall, and suddenly Jude comes running into the foyer. The beagle, now fully grown, bounds around Alana's ankles, barking suspiciously at Will.

He bends down on one knee, extending a hand. "Hey, boy," he murmurs softly. "Guess you don't remember me."

Slowly, cautiously, Jude approaches, tentatively sniffing Will's fingers before letting him rub him behind the ears.

"I'm sorry, Will," Alana says softly. "About the dogs."

"She couldn't help it." He's telling himself as much as Alana. "Had no choice. This is all my fault..." He closes his eyes. "It's my fault she left, and it's my fault Lounds is dead...

"No, Will, it isn't," Alana counters firmly. "You didn't do anything wrong, and blaming yourself won't do any good."

He lefts his head to look at her. "You never believed me when I said that to you."

Something shuts down behind Alana's eyes, and her voice is low and brusque when she replies, "That was different."

This confirms it: Alana hasn't stopped blaming herself, and somehow that wrecks him more than any of the rest of it.

Still on the floor, petting Jude, Will looks at her for a long moment. Eventually, something occurs to him, and he stands up. "Ride with me somewhere."

Alana shoots him a doubtful look. "Will, it's not safe - "

"We aren't going anywhere near my hotel. Or the Hoover, or anywhere else the Tooth Fairy might expect me to be. It's safer if I keep moving, anyway." Off her continued hesitance, Will asks gently, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." The answer is immediate, and certain.

Alana follows him out the door.

_____________________

The car ride is almost completely silent, not even the radio on to add noise. Alana keeps her gaze fixed out the passenger side window, not even letting herself look at him, as if that's all it will take to pretend this isn't happening.

It would be all too easy to get comfortable, to slide right back into the ease of being with him. Especially now, in the quiet dark of Will's car, the empty roads, the illusion that they could somehow just keep going, driving nowhere.

Maybe that's why she doesn't ask where they're going, and for most of the drive forgets to even wonder.

Then they turn down a long driveway and Alana realizes where they are. She shoots Will an alarmed look. "What the hell...?"

"It's okay, we aren't going in." He pulls to the side of the driveway, before reaching the gate, Baltimore State Hospital looming in the background. 

Confused and wary, Alana keeps her eyes on Will as he throws the car into park and lets his eyes fall on the hospital for a moment before turning to her. "You know how long I was here?"

Her eyes shutter with bad memories. "Almost seven months."

"You know why?"

Giving him a helpless look, Alana protests, "Will, what are you doing?"

He answers his own question, "I spent seven months being punished for something Lecter did." He reaches his right hand across the console, weaving his fingers through Alana's, his touch and voice equally gentle, "You're going on two and a half years, Alana. How much longer until you stop punishing yourself?" 

Alana turns her face away but doesn't let go of his hand, her throat working furiously as she fights back tears.

Will is patient. He stays quiet, not pushing, just holding onto her even as she doesn't look at him. Eventually, Alana whispers, her voice thick with tears, "You've been happy, right?" He doesn't answer right away, and after a moment she turns her head the slightest bit to look at him. Her face is wet. "It's helped...thinking you're happy."

He doesn't seem to know what to say. "Yeah. I've been..." He pauses. "It was the right thing to do. Leaving. It was...hard. Harder than I thought it'd be, and you know that. But...it was the right thing for me. The distance, it worked eventually. It's what I needed."

Will isn't sure how she manages it, the look that's both hurt and relieved at the same time. 

He swallows hard, his throat narrow. He isn't sure if it's the stress of the past few days, or the phone call from Molly, or Alana's tears, or maybe just Alana's _presence_ , but something makes him more honest than he's been in years, even with himself. 

"But..." The word carries a lot of weight, and Alana's eyes widen a little, cautious. "The reason I came back here...it wasn't only because I felt unfulfilled, or bored, or useless...a lot of it was because I wanted to see you." At that, she gives him a stricken look, and Will hastily continues, "It was the same with the phone calls...the reason I never stopped calling you until you made me." His face softens. "If there's a choice, I'll always choose you."

Alana's head is tilted, leaning sideways against the passenger seat as she looks up at him. Something's hanging in the air that wasn't there before, and it's strange that the small measure of time manages to hold such enormity. He's not sure he's ever been this in love with her.

It takes awhile before she can talk, and it's barely a whisper, "You're gonna go home, Will." Her lower lip trembles, and she catches it between her teeth. "We're gonna catch this guy, and you're going to go home, with...your wife, and your family, and your...your happy life, away from all this."

He's still holding her hand, and his grip tightens a little. For some reason, he picks up on her whispering. "Maybe I don't want away from _all_ of it.".

"You can't say stuff like that, Will," she tells him, voice strained. "You're married."

"Molly's gone."

Startled, Alana stiffens. "What?"

"She..she left Jack's brother's house, and she took Willy to his grandparents. Her ex in-law's, it's their place and she...she never goes there." He's struggling to articulate it, to explain what her going there means, how final it all sounds. "She called the county to come get the dogs and then she told me she's leaving."

For a moment, there's only silence. Then Alana's hand slips out of his, and she shifts, turning her head away from him and staring straight ahead. "Oh." There's no accusation in her voice. Only resignation. "So you're angry at your wife, and worried about what's happening with you two, so you came to see me."

Panic wraps its hands around his neck, and Will's eyes widen as he realizes how that sounded. "Alana, no-"

"Will, it's okay."

"No, that's not...that's not what's happening."

"It's fine." There's a muscle jumping in her jaw, and she's still staring toward the windshield, not looking at him. "And, Will, you shouldn't worry, I'm sure Molly just wants to be somewhere familiar. She can't go home, or really be with you, but once the case is over -"

" _Stop_." It's louder than he intended, the panic fueling him. "Alana you have to..." He runs a hand through his hair, angry at himself for letting this happen. "Do you want to know why it was Molly? Why it could have only been her?"

She closes her eyes, tight. "No, Will, I really, really don't."

"I just mean...when I met Molly, it had been a few years since her husband died, and...and the only reason we worked is because...because we knew there would always be a certain way we couldn't love each other. It would never be everything. We couldn't give each other that, because...she still loves her husband. And I...I still love you."

Alana inhales sharply, shakily, and turns away, staring out the passenger side window again, curling in on herself.

For a few moments, her chest jerks painfully with the effort of holding back sobs, her teeth catching her tongue so hard it draws blood. It takes nearly a minute before she can force out, "Can you just...take me home, Will? Please?"

He doesn't answer, but after a long pause the car engine rumbles to life, and soon they're gliding down empty roads again. 

They don't talk to whole ride; Will can hear the soft, uneven breathing that means Alana's trying not to cry, and it makes him sick to his stomach. 

When they pull up at her house, though, she looks over to give him a weak, exhausted smile. Her eyes are red. "You know we didn't have to drive all the way there for to you make the point. It didn't really require a visual."

"I know," Will says softly, oddly ashamed of himself. "I just...I wasn't ready to leave. I wanted to drag it out. I haven't...gotten to see you as much as I wanted."

She just nods, and after a moment opens the car door. "Goodnight, Will."

"Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?"

"Yes." She hesitates, halfway out of the car. "Should you be going? Is it safe?"

"They're hoping he shows up to watch me," Will tells her dully. "Plenty of agents will be there, too."

Alana sighs at that, but she doesn't comment, just nods and turns away. "Night, Will."

_____________________

Sponsors of _Tattle Crime_ had paid for an elaborate service for Freddie, and the funeral is long in the chapel and long at the graveside.

Will finds himself watching the most prominent mourners. He had never thought of Freddie as someone with parents. With a younger brother. A girlfriend. 

He takes in the grief etched on their faces, the loss swelling in their eyes, and Will feels once again that powerful collision of guilt and relief. 

His eyes linger on the girlfriend; he'd seen her before, in the hospital. Freddie hadn't regained consciousness, but Will had been there when she'd died, and he'd seen her girlfriend holding onto what was left of Freddie's hand until it was over.

It makes him think of the dozen or so times he woke up in a hospital bed to find Alana's hand in his.

It always comes back to her; if Will could choose who he'd want beside him in the end, it will always be Alana.

_If there's a choice, I'll always choose you._

As if his thoughts have conjured her, Will feels a light tug on the back of his coat, and he turns around to see her standing behind him, her eyes wide and haunted with worst case scenarios and terrifying _what if_ 's. Will can sense immediately that any awkwardness between them after last night has dissolved beneath the knowledge of whose funeral this could have been.

He shuffles back a little, drawing close to her, and Alana rests her forehead against his shoulder for a fleeting moment, still holding onto the edge of his coat. Will thinks again of Freddie's girlfriend, unflinchingly taking hold of her burnt, blackened claw.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, reaching back and slips his hand into Alana's. Her grip is tight, grateful. They stay like that for the rest of the service.

Two seconds after the final _amen_ , Will turns around and pulls Alana into his arms. She hugs back, hard, but steps away after only a few moments, face pale. "If it had been you..." She shakes her head, wordless, unable to finish the thought.

"It wasn't," he tells her softly, suddenly acutely aware that Alana has already lived through his near death once.

She's holding onto his coat with both hands, bracing herself, and for a second Alana sways forward a little, like she's ready to fold against him again. Instead, she looks up and says, "You'll go home, right? After this case, you won't...you won't let Jack talk you into more?"

And for half a second he's genuinely confused by what she means, where she intends for him to go. Just as quickly, her meaning sinks in, and Will's left with the startled realization that after only a few weeks away, he's having trouble connecting Florida with the word _home_.

He doesn't answer right away, and Alana senses his hesitation. She lets go of him and steps back. After a second, she glances to the right, and Will follows her gaze and sees Jack and Beverly watching them and pretending not to.

Alana reaches over and squeezes his arm lightly, but she doesn't say anything else before moving away to meet up with Bev.

_____________________

It's increasingly difficult to get Molly on the phone, and when he does, they don't have much to say to each other.

Willy comes on the line once to tell Will his grandfather has bought him a pony, something Molly failed to mention when recounting new of the day.

Alana is keeping her distance again, and somehow this bothers him more.

_____________________

Somehow, amazingly, he doesn't have to catch the Tooth Fairy - Francis Dolarhyde.

They show up at his house and it's burning. An explosion rocks it moments later, and the blind woman stumbling outside tells them Dolarhyde shot himself in the bathroom just after setting the fire.

When he sees Alana, after, in the lab, she gives him a huge smile, relief emanating from her, but she make a move to hug him, or to even cross the lab and talk to him separately from Beverly and Zeller and Price.

He steps outside to call Molly, who had seen it on the news.

"I'll be here a little longer."

"Four or five days?"

"I don't know..." He hedges, realizing for the first time that he'll have to say goodbye to Alana. Again. "What about you, how soon can you get back?"

"Well, we've got all Willy's aunts and uncles coming down from Seattle next week..."

They've both trailed off, and it leaves them with an awkward silence. They should want to see each other, should be bursting at the seams to go home.

"I should stay until they finish the forensics reports...I'll have to sign off."

"I've been working - just part time - at this western store in town, I'll have to give a little notice."

They go quiet again, embarrassed, both aware of what's happening but unable to voice it. 

Then, they start talking at the same time, half hearted suggestions. "You could - ." They stop. 

"You go."

"Okay. I was going to say you could come up here."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? There's plenty of room." 

"They don't like me, Molly, and you know why." 

She sighs. "What were you going to say?"

"You could leave Willy there, for when his aunts and uncles come. Have his grandmother put him on a plane next week."

"The store, Will."

"Right."

There's that silence again.

"I'll, uh. I'll call you when I know something here. Alright?"

"Sure." Molly hangs up.

_____________________

Jack, Alana, and Will hover in the ruins of Dolarhyde's house as the coroner confirms charred human remains by the end of the day, and Will tries and fails to catch Alana's eye.

She's already shutting down. Already preparing for the moment he walks out of her life again.

As soon as he gets in his rental car, Will calls Molly to tell her, and she surprises him.

"Look, I'm sorry about before. This is silly. Of course I want to see you. Willy and I will be back in Florida tomorrow...how soon can you get here?"

He glances through the window at Alana, nodding at Jack and walking to her own car. Their eyes meet briefly, and for a second he gets a flash of that morning at her house before he left, staring at her through the his windshield in her driveway, unable to get out of his car and start their goodbye. 

"I'll book a flight tonight," he tells his wife, stomach clenching unpleasantly.

_____________________

Alana rides with Jack to drop Will off at the airport. It's masochism, pure and simple, and from the moment Will crawls into the backseat of Jack's SUV, he and Alana both act as though they're driving to a funeral.

Jack gives up attempts at conversation after about two minutes, and they ride in silence. He parks in a fifteen minute spot in the Departures terminal. They all get out of the car, but after a handshake and a perfunctory thank you, Jack returns to the vehicle, leaving them alone.

The world feels like it's made of cracked glass; every moment fragile, every moment with the potential to hurt.

Alana is remembering saying goodbye to Will the first time, two and a half years ago. She keeps telling herself she can't be shattered by something twice. But there is something so desperate in Will's eyes, like all he needs is for Alana to ask him to stay and he'll gladly do it.

They stare at each other for a long time, unable to figure out how to do this. Finally Alana steps forward and hugs Will, holding on for as long as she can allow herself, before stepping back.

"Be happy," she tells him softly, more plea than directive. 

He ducks his head, staring down at his suitcase. After a moment, he says in a small, hesitant voice, "What if _we_ could be happy?" She looks away, not answering. "I told you, Alana...I'll choose you. Every time."

"I'm not giving you that choice," she says tightly. "I can't, Will."

He inhales, a sharp, crooked sound. His eyes are wet.

Alana wraps a hand around the nape of his neck. "It's so much better for you there. With her." He starts to shake his head, but Alana cuts him off, "I'm part of what you had to leave behind, Will." Her face crumples in on itself, just a little. "Back then, I...I'm what was broken." 

His eyes snap to hers, and Will steps closer, closing the already small gap between them, resting his forehead against hers and whispering, with fierce conviction, "You are _not_ broken." 

They step away from each other at the same time, tearful and panicked. 

"Will, you gotta go."

He closes his eyes. Molly and Willy will be waiting for him. A month ago, he was content with them, with that life. He tells himself he can get that back.

Will isn't sure how to end it. The true thing would be to say he loves her, but it feels too cruel, to both of them, to say out loud.

He settles on, "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"Bye, Alana."

"Bye, Will. Bye."

Neither of them are entirely sure what they're apologizing for.

_____________________

There are tears rolling down her cheeks when she gets back in the SUV, but before Jack has a chance to offer sympathy, Alana bites out, "Make that's the last time I ever see him, would you, Jack? Don't put him through all that again."

_____________________

Will and Molly want very much for it to be the same again between them, to go on as they had before. But almost immediately they see it is not the same, and the unspoken knowledge lives with them like unwanted company in the house.

They try to be good to each other, but Molly had been to Oregon and raised the dead, and Will had been to DC and fallen back in time. Willy feels it, and he's cool to Will, taking a cue from his mother. 

Will and Molly had never been tied to each other, not really. They were tethered to other people, people they'd lost, and for awhile there they'd gotten enough distance that they could meet in the middle. But inevitably, the rope had pulled up short, no more slack to give, and they'd been pulled back in the old directions. 

On the fifth day home, Will is already wondering how long they will keep this up (and privately, secretly, he is already making plans). 

And that's when Francis Dolarhyde, not dead at all, shows up at the house and attacks, stabbing Will in the face before Molly manages to shoot and kill the Tooth Fairy.

_____________________

It is the same phone call, the same words, the same grave, rattled tone from Jack.

"Alana, it's...something's happened. It's Will."

The same sensation of the world caving in around her.

"Alana?" She is standing on her porch with her cell phone to her ear. "Alana, I'm getting a flight to Florida now...do you want me to book you a seat?" 

Her own voice is ringing in her ears.

_Make that the last time I ever see him._

"Alana? Are you coming?"

She drives her fist through her front picture window before flatly telling Jack that yes, she'd like it if he booked her a seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep expanding this, but oh well, this one got kind of long. The next and final chapter will pick up with the last chapter and Red Dragon, and I guess a little post-RD, too, and will likely be much shorter than everything else.


	4. hold still right before we crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a few _Red Dragon_ lines were used. 
> 
> Also, if you're interested, a fanmix for this fic can be found here: http://8tracks.com/hmcgill/for-blue-blue-skies

_High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life_  
 _Fight fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time_  
 _Hold still right before we crash 'cause we both know how this ends_  
 _A clock ticks 'til it breaks your glass and I drown in you again_

_'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_  
 _Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why_  
 _If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?_  
 _If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?_

"Your hand is broken."

Her fingers are limply curled, dangling at odd, loose angles, and the backs of her knuckles are bloody. But Alana just rests the hand gingerly on top of her hastily packed bag, not even glancing at Jack as she replies, terse and stone faced, "Good thing we're going to a hospital, then."

As Alana slams the passenger door of his car shut, Jack looks past her, scanning Alana's front porch until he spots the shattered window. He thinks better of commenting, and instead shifts into drive and heads to the airport.

Alana's eyes are glassy and unfocused for the first half hour of the drive, until Jack's phone rings and she whips around to look at him, wild eyed. He glances down at the screen and says apologetically, "It's not about him," before silencing the phone. Alana exhales, a sharp, involuntary sound, and Jack hastily assures her, "If I haven't heard an update, I'll call before we board."

She doesn't answer. She's trying not to talk if she doesn't have to. Terror is straining in her chest, sinking its claws into her throat, but if Alana gives in and starts crying she isn't sure how she'll be able to stop. Their flight is in two hours, and it will be another two hours in the air, at least an hour from the airport to the hospital. Five hours and a thousand miles separate her from Will, so there is no use breaking down so soon.

Yet Alana's not sure she's ever felt so breakable.

She is remembering Will's middle of the night panic attacks, back when he first came home from the hospital, and then later 3 am phone calls from another state, when he'd wake up from some unshakeable nightmare and call her. She used to count to ten, slowly, instructing him to inhale and exhale every time she hit a number. Now, Alana does this for herself, silently counting in an endless loop, focusing on breathing so she doesn't have to focus on anything else.

Jack leaves his car in the long term parking deck at the airport, and Alana trails numbly after him as they print boarding passes at kiosks and go through security. As they remove their shoes to send through the scanners, she sees one of the security agents eyeing her mangled, bloody hand. Jack walks over to him, flashing a badge and speaking in a low voice, and whatever he says allows them to move quickly through the line, though that won't make their plane's departure time come any faster.

They make it to their gate forty-five minutes before boarding begins. Jack keeps glancing at Alana, seemingly bracing himself, ready for her to launch in with blame, with fire and rage and _I told you so_. But she doesn't have the energy, or even the mental clarity for that at the moment.

Jack's cell phone rings after twenty minutes of sitting in silence, and it makes them both jump. He looks down at the number. "'S the police chief in Florida," he murmurs before pressing the phone to his ear and standing up, pacing away down the terminal, his back to Alana.

Alana wants to get up and follow him, hang on every word and expression on his face in an attempt to gauge what's going on with Will, but she can't seem to make her muscles work.

The call goes on for several minutes, and when Jack hangs up he doesn't come back right away; Alana can see his shoulders lift and fall with a slow, weary breath, and when he finally turns around, heading back to her, his face is grave.

Alana's insides twist madly, and she launches to her feet as Jack approaches, her voice bending under the weight of her fear as she demands, "Is he dead? Will, is he, did he...did he die? Is that what they said, just tell me..."

People are turning around, staring. Jack's eyes go wide with alarm, and he hurries forward, putting a hand on her arm. "No, no, of course not. Will's alive, Alana, he's still alive, he's just in surgery."

Her legs turn to water, and she sits back down out of necessity, dazed with relief. She doesn't realize she's finally started crying until it becomes difficult to catch her breath.

Awkwardly, Jack remains standing, seeming uncertain about whether she'd accept comfort, especially from him. He gives cold, intimidating _back off_ looks to anyone staring, and soon the other passengers turn back to their phones or novels or laptops. 

Alana's face is in her hands, her shoulders hunched and trembling, but after a minute or so she looks up, face tear streaked but disconcertingly blank once again. Jack can't help thinking she looks rather ill. Tentatively, he lowers himself into the chair beside hers.

"Last time it took ten minutes to get to him," Alana says, her voice thin and thready. "I was at the Academy, Will and I were supposed to meet in his office and then head to dinner. But then you called, and I was ten minutes away from the hospital. I don't really remember driving there, but I must have. It didn't take me long. Ten minutes." The color is draining from her face, and it takes Jack a second to realize what she's doing: her injured hand is resting between her knees, and Alana's pressing her legs against it.

"Hey, easy..." Jack reaches out, gently grasping her forearm and lifting Alana's hand out of her own grasp. He swallows hard, trying to distract her with information, "They think he'll be okay, Alana."

She glances up at him. "You didn't look like they thought he'd be okay."

Jack sighs; he hadn't known much, from the original call. He'd been trying Will's cell phone, over and over with no answer, trying to let him know that the bones they'd found hadn't matched Dolarhyde's DNA, when suddenly an unfamiliar male voice had answered. A policemen, at Will's house, saying there'd been an attack, and that the suspect was dead but his victim - _Will_ \- had been stabbed and it didn't look good. 

"Dolarhyde stabbed him in the face," Jack reveals as calmly as he can manage. "I, uh. I wasn't expecting that."

Alana shakes her head a little, barely reacting to that piece of information. She can't hold it in her head; it's too surreal. 

Quickly, Jack adds, " But it's good, they said. No major arteries, or organs. Not like before."

She doesn't react to that, either, and the silence stretches again before she eventually asks fully, "Who killed Dolarhyde?"

Jack doesn't look her in the eye when she says it. "Molly."

"She saved his life?"

"Suppose so."

Alana nods. Fitting. For the first time, she remembers exactly what she'll be walking into. This is not like before. She is not the one expected by Will's bedside. She is not the one the doctors and nurses will defer to, will update. She's not who will be taking care of him.

These thoughts hover for just a second before scattering; she'll have to deal with all that later, but right now she just needs to get to where Will is, to hear it said, definitively, that he'll be okay, and to see him for herself.

The rest can wait.

________________________

They'd booked their tickets last minute, so Alana and Jack are a few rows apart on the small plane. She slides into an aisle seat next to an older couple who smile amiably at her and murmur sincere greetings. They look like the warm, friendly type who will whip out photos of kids and grandkids and pry for your life story, and sure enough the woman is soon informing Alana they've been in DC visiting their son and his family. Then she's asking Alana in a completely pleasant tone why she's heading to Florida.

Easy, innocuous lies tangle in her throat; Alana can't manage a word. Her eyes well up, and she stammers a few nonsense starts to words before giving up. The couple exchanges a look, and then their eyes move to Alana's hand, which she's unconsciously started pressing against the hard, plastic armrest. 

The woman reaches over and gently pats Alana's arm, face set in a look of genuine sympathy, and there's something so unfamiliarly _maternal_ about it that Alana nearly breaks down crying again.

She checks her phone before powering it down; there's a text from Beverly, confirming that she's got Jude, and also mentioning that she's going to call someone about the broken window so no one breaks in, and Alana loves her for not asking why it's broken in the first place. She turns off her phone and stuffs it in her bag.

There are delays on the runway, and they take off twenty minutes behind schedule. It's only a two hour flight, but the minutes seem to be stretching. Barely a half hour into the flight, Alana takes off her watch and shoves it to the bottom of her carry-on so she can't keep staring at it. It's on her good hand, so getting it off is a struggle that requires genuine concentration; it's the quickest a five minute increment slips by the whole time they're in the air.

She can't relax the whole flight, feeling overly alert and nearly sick with nervous anticipation, as if she is expecting news any second now instead of several hours away.

When they land, Alana shoves past the people rummaging in overhead bins, and is one of the first passengers to emerge into the airport terminal before realizing Jack apparently isn't in the rush she is. It sets her even more on edge, and Alana's ready to snap at him for the first time all day, but the anger leeches out of her when he appears with his cell phone pressed to his ear.

He hangs up seconds before reaching her. "Couldn't get anyone on the phone."

Alana squints, scrutinizing, trying to tell if he's lying. A paranoia fueled, worst case scenario floats through her head: if Will died while they were in the air, and Jack just found out about it, he wouldn't want to tell her in the middle of an airport. 

But he doesn't have the look of someone who just received the worst possible news, so Alana forces herself to shake the thought.

They walk swiftly to the car rental desk, and a low, frustrated growl uncurls from Alana's throat as she sees the length of the line. Jack takes one look at her and walks to the side, flashing his badge and not quite ethically allowing them to be taken care of first.

"How far?" Alana asks Jack as he punches in the hospital name onto the car's GPS.

"Just under an hour."

She leans back in the seat, eyes settling on the dashboards glowing digital clock, watching the numbers tick away this last stage of waiting.

________________________

Molly Foster Graham sits in the ICU waiting room, worrying the same thin, damp tissue she's had for hours between her fingers, when suddenly she hears Jack Crawford's voice.

"Molly..."

She looks up. He's hovering over her chair, face set in a grimace, looking frozen seconds before offering a greeting. She doesn't stand, doesn't give him a chance to decide whether or not to hug her. "Hello, Jack." Her voice is cold. " _You're_ looking really well, can you give him a face transplant?"

"Molly, don't..."

"Go look at him, Jack. See for yourself." Her jaw tightens. "I didn't think I could look at him, but I did."

"What are the doctors saying?" 

"They're saying they can fix him, that'll it take time is all. But if you could see it..."

"Where's the boy?"

She narrows her eyes. "With our neighbor. She's taking him to the airport...I'm sending him to Oregon, to his grandparents'." She pauses, remembering her reasoning a beat too late, "He shouldn't be around for all this."

Jack's eyes flick toward the heavy doors of the ICU. "Is Will awake?"

"He's opened his eyes a few times. Just for a few seconds, still too groggy. They're only letting us in for five minutes, every four hours. Say he won't be able to talk for awhile, anyway."

Then Molly hears it, a soft, wet intake of breath from somewhere behind Jack, and for the first time she glances over his shoulder and notices the woman hovering several yards back, looking unsure of her place. 

She's beautiful, but her eyes are swollen and slightly wild, and she looks demolished from the inside out. There was a time, back when she first started dating Will, when Molly would secretly google articles about the Hannibal Lecter trial, specifically for _Dr. Alana Bloom_ , but Molly doesn't need to call the memory of those photos forward to realize who the woman is.

"You're Alana." It's not a question. The icy tone she'd used with Jack is gone. 

Alana's looking down at her hands, seeming unwilling to look Molly in the eye. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, flushing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."

"No," Molly says quickly, her voice sounding odd in her own ears. "No, it's fine." There's a heavy, awkward silence, and finally Molly clears her throat and offers, "You should take the next visiting period. I'm sure you're...anxious to see him."

"No. Really. It's fine." Alana shakes her head. "I didn't realize the visiting time would be so limited, I don't want...I don't want to get in your way."

"I think, uh. I think he'll want to see you." It's hard to tell who's more embarrassed by this declaration, Alana or Molly. "Please. It won't be for another three hours, and, ah. It'll give me time to go see about my son."

Alana doesn't reply, but she doesn't protest either. Jack throws her a sharp look, saying in an undertone, "Three hours seems like plenty of time for you to go down to the ER."

For a moment, Molly's confused, but then she notices the way Alana Bloom is cradling her left hand in her right, sees the deep crimson flecks of dried blood against her skin. 

Finally, slowly, Alana nods. "What time will they let me in?"

"Eight."

"Okay. Thank you."

Jack reaches out and takes her small duffle bag. "ER first."

Alana nods surprisingly easily, looking glad to get out of the room. She turns to go.

Molly's surprised to hear her own voice speak up, "Alana? Just know...it looks pretty bad. His face, I mean. You should...be prepared for that."

Alana glances back, and for the first time her eyes meet Molly's. After a beat, she nods a thanks, but Molly can tell from the look on her face that it didn't even occur to Alana to worry about what Will looks like.

________________________

When Will Graham can open his right eye, he sees a clock on the wall at the foot of the bed, its numbers large enough to read through the drugs and the pain. He knows immediately where he is - an intensive care unit. He knows to watch the clock. Its movement assures him that this is passing, will pass.

It's four o'clock. He doesn't know which four o'clock and doesn't care, so long as the second hand keeps ticking. Someone's to the side of him. He turns his right eye, the only one open and functioning, and sees Molly in the chair beside his bed. She's not looking at him; is turned instead out the window. He tries to speak, but the slightest movement of his jaw provokes a great ache on the left side of his head. 

He drifts away.

At some point he dreams that Alana is there. That the clock says eight and she's sitting beside him, holding his hand. Her face is fuzzy, but it breaks and crumples when their eyes meet. She's looking right at him, never flinching. He dreams her voice, murmuring his name over and over, telling him it will be okay, and he makes a stuck, whining noise, trying to talk, but then her hand rips from his and the dream drifts away.

When he opens his eyes again he sees Jack.

Will tries to open his mouth, and he has to remember all over again; he makes writing motions his hand. Jack slides a notebook under Will's palm, pressing a pen between his fingers.

 _Willy OK?_ , he writes.

"Yeah, he's fine. Molly, too. She's been in here while you were asleep." Jack pauses, hesitating, then adds, "So has Alana."

Will's eye widens, and Jack frowns a little. "You don't remember? She said you opened your eyes."

He fumbles with the pen. _Thought I was dreaming._ For a second, Will looks longingly at the door, trying to figure out how to ask for her but quickly realizing he can't. It occurs to him that, with Jack in here, Alana and Molly may well be sharing the waiting room. The thought is so surreal he has the absurd urge to laugh, but then Will remembers where he is and what's happening and the laugher turns cold in his chest. Refocusing, he writes on the pad: _Dolarhyde?_

"He's dead, Will. I promise you he's dead. No question this time." 

Will draws a question mark, wanting more details, but Jack dismisses him, saying he'll explain when Will feels clearer headed. Jack tells Will the doctors say he'll be fine, that his eye is swollen shut from the stab wound but with time, they'll fix it. 

The nurse comes and makes Jack leave, and Will's alone again, all unanswered questions and unrestrained wanting.

________________________

Neither Alana or Molly are in the waiting room when Jack emerges, and he wonders if they're avoiding each other or simply the endless waiting.

He finds Alana fairly easy, pacing a random, isolated corner of the ICU floor, a cast on her wrist. 

By way of greeting, Jack passes her the stack of pages he'd torn from the notebook. "He woke up. Wanted to write."

Alana gives a relieved, gasp of a laugh, shuffling through the pages like they're something precious. She stops at the one that reads _Thought I was dreaming._ and gives Jack a questioning look.

"Talking about your visit," he says quietly.

Her eyes fill up, and Jack reaches out and gently takes the other pages back, leaving that one with Alana. He won't show it to Will's wife. "Do you know where Molly is?"

Alana shakes her head, face tight. "I assumed she'd be in the waiting room."

"No."

"I'm sure she'll be back by the next visitation." There's an immediate, aching longing in Alana's eyes that reminds Jack eerily of the look Will had got when Jack had confirmed Alana was really at the hospital. "Or you should go, Jack. I know he has questions."

He pats her on the shoulder, a bit awkward. "You'll get your chance to talk to him," he tells her. "I think he wanted to see you." She looks away, jaw clenched, not replying. After a beat, Jack suggests tentatively, "If you wanted to go to the hotel for a few - "

"No," Alana cuts him off, swift and brusque. "No, I'll stay here. Somewhere."

"Why don't we walk back to the waiting room...?"

"No, no, I shouldn't. I don't want to be in the way." She pulls out her cell phone. "I have to call Beverly anyway. Just...text me when there's an open visitation, would you? I'll stay close by."

She walks off before he can argue with that plan, and Jack returns alone to the waiting room. 

Molly shows back up soon, but she lets Jack take the next two visiting periods, ten minutes over eight hours, seeing as that's how long it takes for him to explain to Will what happened with Dolarhyde, how he managed to fake his own death and get to Florida.

________________________

Will's awake and waiting for the next visiting hour, and he tries to tell himself it's guilt, and not disappointment, swooping through his gut when Molly walks in.

This time she holds his hand, and he writes _I'm so sorry_ on Crawford's notepad. She just nods, trying to smile. A minute crawls by, and Will writes, _Willy okay?_ She nods again. He writes, _Here?_

She looks up from the pad too quickly. She makes a kiss with her mouth and nods at the approaching nurse, but Will pulls her back, writing, _Where?_ on the pad.

"Oregon," she answers. 

It's what Will expected, and for a second it makes him feel okay about writing, _Who's still here?_

Molly meets his eye, not fooled. Her voice is neutral as she asks, "Do you want to see Alana?"

Will's fairly certain it's the first time he's ever heard Molly say Alana's name out loud. It sounds strange, jarring somehow. Suddenly guilty again, he waits a second before he nods sheepishly.

________________________

"You okay?"

Without answering the question, Alana shifts the cell phone to her other ear. "Sorry I keep calling. I just...I'm going a little crazy here."

Beverly makes a sympathetic sound. "It's fine, Al. Really." 

"I shouldn't be here. It's _weird_ that I'm here, I know it is, I just...I can't even make myself go back to a hotel. Much less leave the state."

"I know. Maybe once you see him. Really see him, I mean, when he's awake and knows you're there."

"And then what? I should leave?"

There's a long pause on the other end of the phone. Finally, Beverly says uncertainly, "I...don't know." Bev still can't shake the instinctual notion that Will would want Alana there. But that instinct keeps forgetting to factor in the existence of his wife.

There's an ensuing silence on both ends, until Alana's phone bings. "Hold on..." She draws back to look at the new text message, breathing a long, shaky sigh of relief before returning to her phone call. "They're letting me have the next visit."

"That's great," Beverly says, sounding relieved to have something to say. 

"Yeah..." Alana trails off, her smile fading. "And then...I should book my flight home."

She seems to be waiting for Beverly to agree with that course of action, but instead the other end is silent for a long moment. Eventually, Bev says carefully, "Shouldn't you see how Will feels about that?"

Alana's chest constricts as his words float back to her: _I'll always choose you._ "No," she says softly. "No, I know what he'll say. He'll want me to stay."

Will may have been the one to walk away, but Alana has always been the one who has to let go. She'd cut off the phone calls. She'd made him get on the plane last week. 

"And you don't think that matters?" Beverly asks, and to Alana's surprised she sounds genuinely irritated. 

"Molly saved his life," Alana forces out with difficulty. "I only ever fucked it up."

________________________

When the door opens and Alana walks in, Will lights up. He can't quite contort his mouth into the appropriate shape, but it's still obvious how much he's smiling.

"Hey." Alana's voice snags on the single syllable. She sits in the chair by his bed and takes the hand he doesn't need to write, impulsively kissing his knuckles. "I'm so glad you're okay." Her eyes never leave his face. They don't flick away every few seconds, like Jack's, or look like she's having to force them to stay, like Molly's. Alana looks at him the way she always has.

 _Thank you for coming_ , he writes.

Her smile is strained. "I probably shouldn't have, I know. But when Jack called...God, Will, it was just like before. I swear I think he said it the exact same way. And I had to see you."

 _Glad you did._ Will's eyes fall on her other hand, the one not holding his, and he frowns, writing, _What happened?_

For a second, Alana looks confused, so Will nods in the direction of her cast. "Oh. Nothing. Stupid accident."

But he still knows her too well, and Will pulls a face before writing, _We don't lie to each other, remember?_

Alana smiles thinly at that, admitting, "I hit my window. When Jack told me. I know, a bit dramatic. Bad luck I was on the porch." He makes a noise, low in his throat, and Alana lets go of his hand to reach up, carding her fingers through his limp curls. "Don't worry about that. I'm just glad you're okay."

Will closes his eye, and as her hand comes to rest on the right side of his cheek, he leans into the touch, writing blindly on the notepad, _Please don't go._

Alana's voice is tinged with regret. "They only give us five minutes, Will."

 _No, I mean don't go home. Not yet._ She doesn't answer, and he adds, the words getting messier, _Please stay._

For the first time, she looks away from him. "Will, I shouldn't...I shouldn't take time away from Molly." 

He gives a frustrated sigh. They don't have enough time, and the notepad doesn't provide enough space, for him to explain it to her. How things have changed between he and Molly since they've returned to Florida. How he had already been making plans, and he suspects Molly had, too. How Willy is already in Oregon, and there's a good chance Molly's planning to follow as soon as Will's face is fixed.

But all he writes is, _I didn't want to leave you last week._

Alana's breathing is sharp. Her eyes are wide and wet, and he can see her blinking rapidly so she won't cry in front of him; she used to do that a lot. "I didn't want you to leave," she says finally, voice thick and clogged, like it's coming from underwater. "And now I wish you hadn't, considering." She glances around the hospital room, at the clicking machines and tangled wires. A few tears spill over. "We've done this way too many times, haven't we?"

There's a lump lodged in Will's throat, and it hurts to swallow against it. His fingers are shaking as he scribbles out, _I'll be different this time. I'll be better._

He wants to make a vow, to himself and to Alana, that if she'll only stay he will not resent her for seeing him weak. He will not make her bear the brunt of frustration and anger. He will be grateful, every day, for her presence, because he knows now what it's like to live without it.

A nurse is tapping on the glass, insistent. Alana nods at her and stands up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Get some sleep, alright, Will?"

She leans down and brushes her lips across his forehead, and Will's hand closes around hers again. That stops her, and for a moment Alana tips her forehead against his, her eyes closed, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "I'm so, so glad you're alive."

He feels her lips against his skin again, and then Alana draws back. He lets go of her hand, and she reaches for the other one, the one resting on top of the notebook and pen. Covering it with her own, she squeezes gently and says, very softly, "I love you, okay?"

Then she turns and leaves, immediately, and it takes Will a moment to realize she'd purposefully made sure he couldn't write the words back.

________________________

"How'd he seem?"

Alana pulls up short; Molly'd been waiting outside the ICU, obviously waiting to speak to her. she feels a flash of dread at being alone with Will's wife, and is suddenly all too aware of how horrible she must look, how obvious it is that she's been crying.

Recovering, Alana answers steadily, "Fine, I think. Looks exhausted, though."

Molly nods, "That's what I thought."

"Thanks again for letting me see him."

Shaking her head, dismissive, Molly merely says, "Of course."

Alana looks her in the eye, voice resolutely calm and steady. "I hope I haven't made this...more difficult on you than it already is. I know I shouldn't have come. But I'm glad I got to see him, and now...now I'm going to book a flight back to DC, and be out of your way."

Molly's eyes soften a little, and for a moment she regards Alana with an inscrutable expression. "Did you tell Will that?"

"I...no."

Molly nods. "That's good." She pauses, then, choosing her words carefully, begins, "You know...back when Will and I were first together, he still had nightmares. I assume about Hannibal Lecter. He would wake up in the middle of the night, shaking and muttering to himself. He thought I never knew."

Alana frowns a little. "You never tried to help him?" She can't comprehend that.

"No." Molly lifts her eyebrows. "Because he always woke up calling for _you_." She pauses, letting that register. "One or two times he'd even leave the room, and I'd hear him on the phone with you."

Alana's face tightens. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long." Molly sighs, looking like she's not up to arguing the point. "Look, my point is...you don't have to leave yet. Please don't, on my account. I think it'll do him good to see you. Really."

________________________

So Jack goes back to DC to wrap the final details of the case, and Alana stays behind in Florida. She gets a hotel room, and she takes one visit of the four Will gets a day, which have now been expanded to twenty minutes. Molly offers an even split, but Alana staunchly - though reluctantly - refuses.

The first two days, she has a hard time leaving the hospital, even in the long hours when she doesn't see him. But eventually, she slides into something like a routine.

Every day at four o'clock she goes to see Will, and each time when Alana walks in, he gives her his current approximation of a smile, and it transforms his whole face. For twenty minutes, they talk - and write - about nothing in particular. It reminds her of their old phone calls, starting out with small talk, when the content of the words is beside the point, and eventually segueing into something else, where they're reminding each other of older, happy memories, reveling in their shared history and taking comfort from the fact that it once existed. She has a stack of pages from Will's notepad, back at the hotel, words he's written her that she can't bear to throw away.

But twenty minutes a day isn't much, and it leaves her with a lot of time to fill. 

One morning Alana finds the house Will used to rent on the beach; she knows it's a mile or so from where he now lives with Molly and Willy, so she doesn't walk in that direction. It reminds her a bit of his little house back in Wolf Trapp. There's a rental sign hanging in the yard. She wanders up on the porch, then walks around the shoreline that's practically the house's backyard, imagining Will there two and a half years ago, the dogs at his heels, phone to his ear, telling her what he saw so she could picture it while they spoke.

Another day she walks further, finding what she's fairly certain is the pier where Will fishes. Another morning takes her to a boat yard he'd mentioned. She fills in blanks of his life this way, and it eases a bit of the ache that flares every afternoon when she leaves his hospital room.

________________________

Molly comes in three times a day and stays with Will the whole twenty minutes, and each time they are both embarrassed they don't have more to say to each other.

She makes no mention of Willy coming back from Oregon, and Will wonders if, between the visiting periods, Molly's secretly packing her own things. Sometimes the _wondering_ is more like _hoping_. 

He wishes there was a way to ask Alana to come more often, or to tell Molly _she_ doesn't have to. But there's no way of saying that and sounding like a good person, even though he can see in Molly's expression she's having similar thoughts. 

They're nice to each other, almost overly, politely so, and sometimes Molly looks at Will with a strange, bittersweet sort of wistfulness that only enhances the sense that something is ending.

________________________

When Alana's been in Florida for a week and a half, and has spent less than four hours total with Will, she starts to wonder how much longer she can keep this up. Surely the appropriate time for Visiting Ex-Girlfriend has passed, and her grace period from Molly has probably expired.

She's walking the beach, a mile or so from Will's old house, trying and failing to find justification for extending her stay in Florida, when she hears frantic barking behind her, getting rapidly close. She turns around just in time for two paws to hit her thighs.

It takes her a moment to identify the jumping, barking ball of energy. " _Winston_!"

In seconds she's on her knees in the sand, Winston alternately scrambling up her torso and bouncing back and forth around her thighs. 

"Cooper!" A voice is yelling repeatedly, and Alana looks up to see a young guy in his early twenties jogging toward her. "Cooper, c'mere, boy." Winston pays no attention, finally settling down a little so Alana can scratch him behind the ears, but his whole body's still quivering with excitement, and he keeps shuffling forward to lick her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," the young guy is panting. "I don't know what got into him." He snaps his fingers. "Cooper, _come_."

Alana drapes an arm over Winston's back, still rubbing him gently behind the left ear with her good hand. "It's okay. He's my friend's dog."

The guy blinks at her, taken aback. "Um, no. He's mine."

"No, I mean...sorry, you got him at the shelter, right? Within the last month?" Wary, the guy nods. "Right, this is Winston."

The guy's looking distinctly uncomfortable now, his eyes flicking to the way Winston's pushing his snout against Alana's chin. "Oh. We named him Cooper."

Without meaning to, Alana closes her hand possessively around Winston's obviously new collar. "Listen, did you...did you hear about the FBI profiler who got attacked in the area?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Right, that's Will, that's..." She draws a breath, making sure she sounds rational. "He's a friend of mine. He and his family had to leave the house for awhile, because the Tooth Fairy had their home address, and Animal Services came to take their dogs. They weren't sure when they'd be able to go back but now..." She trails off, assuming the news has made the rest of the story clear, but the guy says nothing. 

Tired of squinting up at him, Alana stands; Winston whines immediately, winding around her legs, and she absently drops a hand to his head. She meets the guy's stare, cutting to the chase, "How much?"

"I really don't..."

"You haven't had him more than a few weeks, right?" She reaches into her purse, quickly counting cash. "Will's had him for years, I'll...three hundred dollars."

The guy shifts his weight, uncertain. "Look, it's just...he's not just mine. My girlfriend and I, we went to the shelter, we picked him out together. She's at work, I can't even call..."

Alana doesn't break eye contact. She drops her wallet back in her bag, fumbling for her checkbook. "Five hundred."

He doesn't answer, looking torn. Alana can feel desperation swelling in her stomach; the guy can't be long out of college. The money has to be tempting. " _Seven_ hundred."

"It's not that I don't..." He gives her an imploring look. "I just don't want to get shit about it. You know?"

"A thousand." She'd been distracted for a few seconds, and Winston nudges pointedly against her leg, begging for more attention. " _Please_." She can hear the cracks in the edge of her voice now. "A thousand dollars, and you can go pick out another dog, please..."

Finally, the guy gives a small nod of acquiescence. "Okay. Yeah. For a thousand." 

Relief fans out through her chest, and Alana feels tears stinging her eyes as she nods. "Thank you. Really." She opens her checkbook. "What's your name?"

As she writes a check for a thousand dollars to Brian Isley, he reaches out and rubs Winston on the head. "See ya, boy."

"Seriously, thanks," Alana hands him the check.

"Yeah, you, too," he says, almost absently, staring at the check, looking both pleased and anxious as he casts one last look at the dog and walks away.

Alana sits down in the sand again, and Winston crawls happily over her lap.

________________________

When Molly leaves from her noon visit with Will, she's surprised to see Alana parked beside her in the hospital lot. They haven't seen each other since that first day, when Molly had told Alana to stay, and they'd ended up working out which visit she would take each day. She's not sure what the other woman is doing with her days, and she's not inclined to ask.

As she approaches, she gives Alana a strange, but not unpleasant, smile, "Hey..."

Alana grins, and it's almost startling; it's the first time Molly's seen her looking anything but devastated or uncomfortable, and yes, she's intimidatingly beautiful. "Look who I found..."

She opens the back door of her rental car, and Winston jumps out. 

"Oh my God!" Molly grins, too, extending her hand, and the dog trots pleasantly over to greet her. "How the hell?"

"Some college kid had him on the beach, and he got away and ran over to me. I guess the guy had adopted him from the shelter a few weeks ago."

Molly looks up at Alana, one eyebrow arched. "Did you steal him?"

Alana laughs, then promptly looks surprised that the sound came from her. "Ah. No, I just bought him."

"How much?"

"Not a lot. I appealed to his sympathies." But something about the way she looks down at Winston when she says it makes Molly not believe her. 

"Well, that's kind of amazing." Molly watches as Winston goes back over to Alana, rubbing against her legs in an unmistakably familiar way. "Will's gonna be so happy. I hated doing that...I'm pretty sure he'll never forgive me."

At that, Alana looks up, staring at Molly for a moment with a torn expression. After a moment, she says, "You should tell him." Molly frowns a little, surprised. Alana nods at the dog. "Tell Will you found him."

"No, that's...you don't have to do that."

"But you should. It's. He's your dog, anyway." Alana looks away, pursing her lips together, and after a moment she says in a firm, definitive voice, "You can tell him next visitation."

Molly's frown deepens. The next visiting period is at four, Alana's daily time. "You're not going?"

She shakes her head, and it sounds like each word has to be forcibly extracted from her throat. "I'm, uh. I'm gonna try to get a flight back. For early tomorrow, or even tonight if I can."

They don't say anything for a moment, but finally Molly replies, "You should still go visit. Let Will know you're leaving." 

Alana's face pinches inward just a little, something behind her eyes starting to break along fault lines. Finally, she says, "No, it's okay. I'll call him, when I'm back. Check in." Neither of them point out the obvious fact that Will can't be a great phone conversationalist at the moment.

Instead, Molly simply nods. "Alright then. I'll let Will know." 

"Thanks. And...thank you, again, for letting me be here."

"Thank _you_ for Winston." 

Alana nods. She leans down, gives Winston a final rub behind the ears, and then hands his collar to Molly. The dog whines when Alana moves away.

She and Molly give each other awkward half smiles before getting into their respective cars.

________________________

When Molly walks into his hospital room at four o'clock, Will can't wipe the disappointment and borderline panic off his face quickly enough.

"Gee, _sorry_ ," Molly snaps before she can stop herself, just enough of a bite to her voice to make her immediately wince, then sigh. Will has the grace to look embarrassed.

Shaking off the moment, Molly sits down beside him, her phone in her hand. "I wanted to show you something..." She scrolls to the right photo, then, half-smiling, holds the phone up to Will. "I took this an hour ago, at the house."

Will looks down at the screen, expectantly, and sees Winston stretched out on his favorite rug in the living room. 

" _Oh_ ," he rasps out, a broken, weak whisper. His eye lights up, his lips lifting in a fault line of a smile. He's practically glowing, and it's the happiest Molly's seen her husband since the stabbing. No, that isn't right. Since before he left for DC. 

__She wonders if he's been saving that look for Alana._ _

__She wonders if she minds._ _

__Will's reached out and taken the phone, holding it close to his good eye. The pure, awestruck delight on his mangled face makes him look almost handsome again. " _How_?"_ _

__"Will, you aren't supposed to talk," she scolds, the admonishment mild and automatic._ _

__He nods, handing her back her phone and looking at her expectantly._ _

"Well..." Molly pauses, but she only hesitates for a moment before saying, "Alana found him. She bought him back from whoever adopted him at the shelter."

It's obvious, the way the glow in Will's eye actually increases when he hears Alana's name, and suddenly Molly feels very, very tired. "Will." He looks up, a little startled at the sudden seriousness of her tone. Molly resolutely meets his eye; she wants to watch Will while she tells him this. "Alana's leaving. She's going back to DC, either tonight or tomorrow. She's not coming by again."

His reaction is about what she would have guessed. Blind panic, chased quickly by maddening confusion and devastation as Will realizes he has no way of protesting. Molly gives a little nod, as though confirming something to herself, and then she says, "But I don't think she's the one who should leave."

Will's face freezes. His fingers close around the pen, but he has nothing to write. He just stares at Molly, waiting, half hopeful, half worried. 

She takes his hand, giving Will a small, thin smile. "We both know it, we just don't say it. We're going through the motions here, Will, and we have been since we got back. If it wasn't for the attack, we'd have both been gone by now." She pauses; he doesn't dispute this. "I keep thinking, _obviously, I have to stay until he's better. Even if he doesn't want me here, I have to stay. Leaving wouldn't look good._ But then I thought...wouldn't look good to _who_? We don't have mutual friends, Will. You're not close to my family. We're both keeping up appearances, even though no one's watching. We're trying to do the right thing, even though it's not what either of us want."

For a long moment they don't say anything, just look at each other while this finally spoken truth settles, thickening the air around them. 

"You didn't want to come back from DC, did you?" Molly asks after awhile.

Will lowers his eye, and slowly, painstakingly shakes his head. His pen scribbles messily on the piece of paper. _Sorry._

"Don't be. I didn't want to come back from Oregon." She tilts her head a little, smiling that bittersweet smile again. "I guess it was always doomed with us, huh? The biggest thing we had in common was loving other people."

He shows the _Sorry_ piece of paper again, underlining it once for emphasis, and Molly understands what he's apologizing for: they are both inextricably tied to someone else, but Will actually has a chance. He can be with Alana again. So in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that he's the one in a hospital bed with his face disfigured, he is inordinately better off.

With tears in her eyes, Molly smiles, squeezing his hand, acknowledging the apology, the truth in it. 

"If you want me to stay, I'll stay. I'll see you through this...the hospital, the follow up surgeries, getting you home. Then that will be the end of it, of us, but I can do the right thing and ride it out if that's what you want." Molly inhales slowly. "Or we can save all three of us some time and you can choose her."

Will looks up, apology in his expression as he nods. 

Molly doesn't ask him to clarify. She just nods back, stoic. "I'll tell her not to go anywhere."

Grabbing for his pad, Will writes _Willy?_ Molly winces a little.

"I know it's not ideal, Will. But I'll have him call you, when you can talk. Maybe bring him to visit. We'll figure something out, alright? You don't have to never see him again."

He nods, grateful. Molly squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing up. "I'm going to Oregon, again, for awhile. We'll figure everything else out when you're a little better, okay?" She kisses him on his smooth, unmarred cheek before turning to go. "I'll call soon."

____________________

There's a knock on her hotel room door, and even though she's the only person Alana knows in the state that isn't restricted to an intensive care unit, Alana's still somehow surprised to find Molly Graham on the other side.

"Hi." She gives an awkward, apologetic smile. "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course..." Alana steps back, perplexed. Molly sits down in the rolling chair by the standard hotel room desk, and Alana leans back against the door, facing her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Did you get a flight?"

"In the morning." 

"Oh." Molly pauses, seeming unsure of where to start. Eventually, she sighs. "I know this is odd. I watch a lot of romances, you know, and even I haven't seen this scenario." She laughs a little, more uncomfortable than amused. "But Will can't exactly come chasing after you, and he can't even really make a speech over the phone so I have to do it for him." She trails off, and Alana waits but Molly doesn't immediately continue.

"I'm sorry," Alana says finally. "I don't understand." 

"You shouldn't leave," Molly says bluntly, looking Alana dead in the eye. "You don't want to go, and Will doesn't want you to." 

Alana just stares at her, completely thrown off by this information and its unlikely source, unsure of what to say.

Molly purses her lips, thinking, and finally she says, "He was planning to leave me. After he got back, before Dolarhyde showed up...after seeing you."

Alana's shaking her head, vehement. "No, I...I'm sure he was just...readjusting. It was strange for him, stepping back into that old life, but Molly, nothing happened between Will and I in DC."

"I believe you," she says calmly. "But I still know he was planning to leave." She smiles wryly. "And if he hadn't gone, than I would have." Alana's brow furrows at that. "We were never meant to last, Will and I. We could never have been forever."

"But you...you got married." Even now, Molly can easily hear the pain stripped through Alana's voice at the word.

"I know. And I love Will." Even this seems to sting a little, but then Molly continues, "But I never loved him as much as I missed Daniel. And it was the same for him. Probably worse, because you were still a possibility, no matter how faint." Alana doesn't say anything, so Molly keeps talking, as much to herself as the other woman, "I'm not so defeatist that I think I could never be with someone else, but...it needs to be someone who _forces_ me into the present, you know? Who makes me choose him. And Will never did. Because he's stuck in the past as much as I am."

Alana's frowning, staring at a point beyond Molly's head with an intensely focused look, conflict evident in her expression. 

After a moment, Molly stands up, "Look, I'm not here to try to convince you. Just...so you have all the information. I'm going to Oregon, with my son and my in-laws, as soon as I can get a flight. I've been shipping things and packing for over a week...it's not a spur of the moment decision. I asked Will if he wanted me to stay, and...he doesn't." She walks past Alana, pausing briefly at the door. "I should be able to fly out in the morning. I'll leave Winston at the house...I left Will his keys."

____________________

Will's heart is skittering oddly in his chest by the time the clock hits eight. He stares fixedly at the door, and the clock beside it, as though the door will open the moment the second hand clicks by the twelve.

But it doesn't. 8:01 comes and goes, followed by 8:02 and 8:03 and 8:04. By 8:05, a whole fourth of the visitation time, he's properly scared she isn't coming.

He's seconds away from buzzing a nurse, begging for a phone, when the door creaks open. 

For a second Will's throat narrows, and it's only in that split second that he acknowledges he's scared to death the visitor is going to be Molly, saying she's sorry, but Alana left anyway.

But then Alana steps into the room, and Will lets out a gasping, relieved breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

It's different. She doesn't come straight to the chair beside his bed, just closes the door behind her and leans against it, staring at him from a distance, her face a tapestry of uncertainty and fear and maybe a little bit of hope

"Alana - " he starts, a heavy, low pitched scratch.

Immediately, she cuts him off, on autopilot. "You aren't supposed to talk."

He waves the pad, flashing her a nervous version of his crooked, warped Picasso smile. "You can't read from there," he croaks out, and Alana dutifully moves closer, though still only going as far as the foot of the bed.

Will looks up at her, trying to read her expression, and it's only the realization that their time is slipping away that spurs him to scribble on the pad. _You were going to leave?_

Alana's lips tremble, and she curls them together, nodding a little, silent.

He swallows hard, hurt washing over his features. Ducking his head, he writes, _Without saying goodbye?_

She has to lean a little closer to read it, but quickly reels back, like the words have physical force. Her face twists, eyes glittering. "I...I couldn't. Not again. The first two almost killed me." 

"Me, too," he rasps out. Their eyes cloud over as they think briefly of the goodbyes: on her front porch, in front of an airport. Both had felt so heartbreakingly final, and yet here they are. 

It always comes back to the two of them.

He flips the page in the notebook, and his writing is careful and meticulous as though handwriting will work in his favor. This time, he rips out the page and extends his hand, making her reach out and take it.

_So let's not say goodbye anymore._

Alana stares down at the tiny piece of paper until the letters go blurry. Finally, she tucks it into her pocket and walks around the side of the bed, pulling the chair as close to the mattress as she can. She looks at Will with tears in her eyes and so much love in her expression that it cracks him open.

"I love you," he whispers, the syllables weak and broken. 

"I love you, too." Her voice isn't much stronger. "But, Will...we're in the same place we were three years ago. You're in the hospital. You've been through hell. What if we make the same mistakes as before?"

"We won't," Will grates out, and this time Alana remembers to give him a sharp look and nod at the paper. He grabs it, and it takes him awhile to write.

_We won't. I know now. I know you're never going to be something I want to let go of. I know I'll always want to come back to you. And I told you, I won't take it out on you this time. I'll be better. I'm trying so hard to do it better._

He hands her that paper, and as she reads Will writes something else.

_But you have to do something, too. You have to let it go, Alana. You have to get mad at me when I deserve it, and fight when I deserve that. You have to stop blaming yourself._

After she reads that one, Alana props her elbows on the edge of the mattress, resting her palm in her forehead, her face screwed up tight as she tries not to cry. "I don't know...if I can promise that," she forces out. "It's...even this, Will. This only happened because Hannibal gave Dolarhyde your address, it's still all because of him, it...it never stops." A crooked sob tears out of her. "What _I_ did...it never stops hurting you."

Will reaches out to touch her cheek, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away the tears slipping down Alana's face. "You told me...back in DC...that it helped you...knowing...I was happy..." His words are barely the breath, but Alana can't bring herself to tell him to write it down. "Well...I need... _you_...for that."

Alana's face collapses, and in the next second she leans forward and kisses him. She's impossibly gentle, and he can't do much in the way of kissing back, but still it makes Will's heart feel like it's too large for his chest. She pulls away and leans her forehead against his, their noses brushing. "God, I love you. I love you so much..."

"Me, too...me, too..." He wraps his arms tightly around her, and Alana moves back a little to bury her face in his shoulder. Will strokes her hair and they're both crying quietly, the cleansing sort of tears that come from draining, overwhelming relief. 

There's an all too familiar rapping on the window, the nurse signaling that their time is up.

"Shit, _really_?" Alana lifts her head and sits up. Her face is wet and strands of her hair are sticking to her cheeks, but all of a sudden she laughs, a beautiful, happy sound that makes him dizzy. "We're kind of a mess."

"You'll be back...in the morning, right?"

" _Don't talk_. And yes. Eight a.m. sharp...and every other time they let me. And I'll talk to your doctor about how soon we can transfer you out of ICU...."

"I love you."

" _Talking._ " She smiles at him, and touches her hand gently to the scarred, swollen side of his face. She looks him in the eye. "I love you, too."

____________________

The next day, and for the next three after that, Alana comes to every visiting period and sits with Will for the whole twenty minutes. On the fourth day, he's moved onto the general recovery floor, and she's allowed to stay all day, from seven a.m. to eleven p.m.

On those days, she doesn't spend much time away from the hospital. There is so much they have to say.

Conversations slip by in confessions. They hold nothing back. They rehash the days after Hannibal's arrest, identifying their mistakes, confessing their helplessness and their hurt. Will explains in detail his decision to leave, and Alana admits that it wrecked her, that it felt like he gave up on them, that he was finally blaming her. They give the true stories of their early days apart, every ugly and lonely detail. Will tells her about his relationship with Molly, the decision to propose after Molly initiated frank discussions about marriage, the way he'd felt sick and uncertain on his wedding day. Alana recounts her reaction to the news, her one and only visit to Hannibal the day Will got married.

They fill in the spaces that have bloomed between them and they grow back together. Alana braves the house Will shared with his wife and gets Winston, switching to a motel that allows animals for a few days before she decides to rent the house Will first lived in in Florida. 

They do their best to keep their promises. Will can't always swallow his frustration at his inability to speak or eat properly, but when he snaps at Alana, she snaps right back, calm but unwavering. She doesn't fold like it's a punishment she deserves. 

Beverly drives Alana's car down to Florida one weekend, dropping off Jude and several boxes and suitcases of clothes, then stays for a few days visiting with Will. Jude and Winston are cautious at first, but eventually have no choice but to bond, being left in an otherwise empty house all day.

Willy and Will write a few letters. Divorce papers come before Will's even out of the hospital.

After a month, Will gets out of the hospital, though there are more reconstructive surgeries scheduled. He moves into his new-old house with Alana and the dogs, and his things slowly migrate from Molly's house to theirs. A For Sale sign appears in the old yard.

One night, they're sitting on the porch, drinking beer and listening to the soothing, rhythmic crash of the waves, and Alana asks him where he wants to go.

"What do you mean?"

"After next month, and the surgery, you won't need to stay near this hospital anymore." She glances over at him. "Would you want to stay here? Or go back to DC? Or somewhere new?"

"I honestly don't know," Will says, and in the next second he amends, genuinely, "No, actually, I don't _care_." He gives her his crooked smile. "I just want to be wherever you are." 

Alana's in one of the old, stripped rocking chairs, and Will's standing, leaning against the porch railings in front of her. She stands up and walks over to him, bracing her hands around the rail on either side of him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm. We can go back to DC, if you want. I'll stay at home with the dogs while you work." He's half been expecting her to float the idea of going back; it's closer to her brothers. Her job is still waiting, in spite of this sabbatical. She and Beverly talk on the phone frequently. 

She leans against him, hands absently fisting his shirt, her forehead tilted against his chin, and Will can feel the hum of her answer. "Mmmmm. That does sound nice." Alana leans back to look at him, the ocean framed behind him, the salt air thick and clear. "But it's nice here, too. We could stay through the end of the year, at least."

"We could," he agrees. "If that's what you want." 

She catches his lips in hers, this kiss slow and lazy and certain. He groans a little, low in the back of his throat, when she pulls away, but Alana just grins up at him and slips her fingers through his. "Come with me."

He's hoping she'll lead him into the house and up to the bedroom, but when Alana goes down the porch steps and onto the beach, Will just follows gamely along, their hands clasped tight.

There's a breeze making everything cooler, and after a moment of walking, Will lets go of her hand and wraps an arm around Alana instead. She leans into him, and it's so clearly instinctive that Will's heart jumps to his throat.

Not once does he question where they're going, or why. They don't even talk much, content with the quiet. 

After a bit, though, Alana slows down, glancing over her shoulder before coming to a complete stop. "Look back."

He follows her gaze, and immediately sees what she's done. In the distance, the lights of their house are glowing golden in the dark, the only light visible beyond the shimmering silver of the moon against the water.

"See?" Alana murmurs, leaning back against Will's chest as he wraps his arms around her waist from behind. "Still works here."

His chest feels tight, not so much because of the visual as the fact that Alana remembers it, and what it meant to him. "You're right," he says, close to her ear, punctuating the sentence by pressing a kiss to her hair. "It does."

"I used to go to your old house, sometimes, when you were gone," she tells him softly. "And I'd walk out the fields, like we did that time. But it was dark, so it didn't really work." He hooks his chin over her shoulder, so his unscarred cheek is pressed against hers. "This, though. You're right. A boat on the sea."

"Or the shore," he says, and he feels her smile. "You know I don't need it anymore, though. To feel safe. I have you for that."

She goes very still against him, and after a moment, says, "You can be so damn cheesy, Will." But her voice is rough, and she turns around, snaking her arms around him and leaning against his chest for a second before turning her eyes up to look at him. They shine in the dark, and he's struck once again at how she makes him forget the all too visible scars he carries.

"Alana...can I ask you something?"

"Of course." 

"And you can be honest, I want you to be completely honest..." He swallows hard. "Does it ever bother you, even a little bit, that I...look like this?"

Her face falls open, and the tenderness there makes Will's throat narrow. "It bothers me that he hurt you," she tells him, voice low and serious. "And it bothers me that other people make you feel it." He's become even more wary of public, hating both the stares and the averted gazes, and especially the occasional hint of revulsion that reminds him of being in prison, of sitting through his trial for murder. "That's all. That's the only part that bothers me." 

Alana reaches up and cups his face, the bad side, her thumb skimming easily over the mottled, pitted skin. "I look at you and I just see... _you_. This person I love more than anything else. The details don't even factor in anymore." He tips his forehead against hers, throat too tight to talk even if he could find the words for his gratitude. 

Suddenly Alana crooks out a smile, her eyes dancing. "Besides, you know I've always been primarily attracted to you for your hair." She tangles her fingers in his curls, arching an eyebrow seductively, before breaking into a laugh. Will leans forward and kisses her, swallowing the laughter, and after a few moments she pulls back just enough to say, serious and soft once again, "You're perfect, and I love you. Okay?"

Will wraps his arms around Alana, pulling her close and keeping his eyes open only a fraction, glimpsing the distant light of their house, and he remembers those years without her, the lonely walks on this very beach when he'd felt so achingly, desperately homesick. Now, in the same spot, with the sound of crashing waves filling his ears and his chest feeling full to bursting with the terrifying immensity of his own happiness, he knows that what he was missing - the home he was sick for - was never a place.

His home has always been her.


End file.
